


Along Comes a Stranger

by klmeri



Series: Riverside [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 111,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klmeri/pseuds/klmeri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's life in Riverside is uncomplicated until two men, both equally mysterious and compelling, arrive in town, bringing with them the promise of change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

It’s a beautiful day—gentle weather, a slight breeze, and nothing but miles of wheat. Jim couldn’t ask for anything sweeter, except company. As it stands, he has no one with which to share a beautiful day such as this. Perhaps his lonely circumstances take away some of the shine of his joy; perhaps, despite Jim’s carefree grin and cheerful wave at a neighbor driving along the dirt road bordering the Kirk farm, he wishes he was elsewhere.

Jim Kirk is a local mechanic. He likes working with his hands, and not simply because it is one of the few trades which legitimately pays the rent in this small town of Iowa. Jim is a man who needs to keep busy, his mind as well as his hands, and so he repairs what he can, when he can. If the vehicle or bike or tractor runs better than brand new afterward, well, that knowledge is a personal reward for Jim besides a paycheck. He knows he can create something great from something broken, and machines are very easy to understand, where every part has a purpose.

His friends say if he was half as good at fine tuning people, he’d be a Somebody instead of a farm-boy-turned-mechanic. He might be a wealthy politician (Jim imagines always wearing a suit and tie and cringes) or a wise doctor (to have another man’s life in his hands, _God no_ ). Jim's mother, Winona Kirk, says he need not be Somebody because he is already special—to her, at least. Yet she still laments that he won’t leave Iowa and _live_.

Jim thinks he is living well enough. He thinks he made the right choice, turning down Captain Pike. Jim’s father is a war hero, decorated after his death in the line of duty, so Jim has a keen understanding of what a career in the military can do to a man’s family. When Pike visited the Kirk's old farmhouse one day, like a ghost from the past that made his mother pale and retreat to the kitchen, Jim gave the man a chance to speak and then he said what he had to; he said “No, Sir, no thanks. I’m needed here.”

Pike assessed his solemn expression for a moment, making Jim feel much younger than twenty-two but finally yielded. “All right, son. If you change your mind, we could use you.”

 _You want a man like my father_ , Jim didn’t say as he led Christopher Pike to the door and out of their lives.

Later, his mother made three of Jim’s favorite dishes for dinner, plus strawberry pie for dessert. She leaned against his chair and stroked his hair. She said, “You didn’t have to do that for me, Jimmy.”

“Wasn’t for you,” he mumbled between bites of roast chicken and mashed potatoes.

They both knew what a lie that was.

Still, she kissed the top of his head like he might be seven and silly before walking away. Except Winona turned back to him once at the threshold of the kitchen. “Your father was a good man,” she said, and _yes_ , Jim knows that because she has been saying it since he could understand the words. “I see more of George in you with each day that passes. You would have made a fine officer, Jim.”

They haven’t discussed Pike or Jim leaving the farm since. Jim works to pay the mortgage on the house and land while his mother still waitresses at a local diner part-time, even though Jim insists she can quit. He fixes what people need fixing, he rides his own motorbike down quiet country roads on weekends, and sometimes, just once and a while, he will stop across from a dusty billboard advertising the Glory of the Army, stuck between the Riverside Post Office and old Charley’s Shoe Shop ( _Open Since 1955_ ). Inevitably, he always turns his bike back towards the farm.

~~~

“Yo, Jim!”

Kirk grunts from the under belly of a sagging gas tank and digs a heel of an tattered sneaker into the concrete floor of the garage, scooting himself an inch or two backwards so he can reach his target. “Just a sec!”

One good twist of his wrench and a long exhaust pipe fits back into place. Jim tucks the wrench into his belt and scoots out on his back from beneath Mr. Patterson’s old Charger (the Patterson’s are an old Riverside family—bankers, mostly—and pay in cash). He wipes his greasy hands down the front of his overalls and asks, “Yeah?”

Jose, owner of the garage and the man who taught Jim the trade secrets of being a mechanic, leans out of his office door. “Ms. Kirk called. Said she’ll be late tonight.”

“Thanks,” Jim calls back. “I’ll finish this old gal first. Then I’m gone,” he adds, patting the black surface of the Charger as he walks past it and heads to a small washroom to wipe off the oil streaks he’d absentmindedly rubbed on his face while working.

It is three hours past sunset by the time Jim makes it to The Diner, hands tucked in his jean pockets and his face pink from a brisk ride through the cold air. He pushes through the front door of the diner, the overhead bell ringing sharply twice to announce his presence. The atmosphere of The Diner is sleepy, almost cozy to those who are used to it.

Jim’s mother smiles at him from across the long room, her face lighting briefly to see him, before she returns to chatting with a customer. Jim looks in the opposite direction, counting only a handful of people: in the booths, a mother and two loud kids, a man with his head bowed over his hands like he’s praying, and Janice Rand’s sour-faced father, a deputy of the Riverside police squad. Jim shrugs off a skittering up his spine, remembering how Mr. Rand had eyed him when he escorted Jan to the senior prom. Dating Rand's daughter had been short-lived, mainly because Jim didn’t enjoy being under surveillance and Rand's paranoia is infamous. _Poor Jan_ , Jim thinks, and then dismisses the thought.

The diner counter is occupied, as always, by Montgomery Scott perched at its far end, nearest the restrooms. Scotty—that’s what Jim likes to call him and Montgomery doesn't say otherwise—isn’t quite a homeless man or an utter drunkard but stuck somewhere in between. Everybody in town knows Scotty stays at his mother’s most days but if people find him sleeping on a bus bench or along a church stoop, well, no one bothers the poor man, not even the police. Work is hard to come by these days, and Jim suspects Scotty is one of those so-brilliant-it’s-awkward people that are either wind up millionaires or vagabonds.

Jim decides to put his theory to the test (again) and gets comfortable at the counter two seats away from Scotty—close enough to talk but not close enough to crowd the man and scare him off.

Before Jim can open his mouth, however, he catches the scent of lilac perfume and jerks back on instinct as a menu is slapped down with attitude precariously close to his innocent fingers.

He grins, remarking with charm, “Uhura, where have you been all my life?” and wonders if the waitress will punch him or return his interest.

Nyota Uhura narrows her eyes at him, cocks a hip, and swings her pony like a whip. “I hear people invent new and innovative ways to screw themselves over every day, Kirk.” She bares her teeth, which only adds to her natural beauty despite that she is more likely to bite Jim than kiss him. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll win first prize.”

Jim’s forlorn sigh is entirely fake. “Why can’t you love me? Everybody loves me!” His thumb indicates Scotty. “Even Scotty loves me! Isn’t that right, Scotty?”

Scotty catches the sound of his nickname and blinks, turning to stare at Jim blankly.

Uhura snaps, “Don’t bother him, Jim.” Her voice turns to sugar as she smiles brightly and refills Scotty’s glass of coca cola. “Ignore Mr. Kirk, Scotty. He’s full of himself tonight.”

Scotty takes a long swallow of his drink and then rubs the back of his mouth across his hand. He nods mutely at Uhura, whose eyes soften in sympathy. Jim never realized until now that Uhura was attracted to the silent type; otherwise he would have tried a different tactic.

 _Too little, too late,_ he chuckles to himself, knowing that any inclination to flirt and mean it has long since passed between them. Uhura acts more like a sister Jim thought he would have wanted—except now Jim is of the firm opinion that having a sister is severely overrated.

He asks plaintively, “Can I get a cup of coffee, please?”

Uhura seems to deflate all at once, sighing long and low as she adjusts the apron around her waist. “Sure. Hold on.”

Jim is slowly pulling the paper cover off of a straw when his mother approaches his end of the counter. Winona Kirk sweeps back a few loose strands of hair from her face, glancing at Scotty before giving her full attention to her son.

He tucks in his elbows and peeks at her through his lashes exactly like the time, as a small boy, he had collected a shoebox full of bullfrogs and they accidentally ran rampant in her kitchen. It’s his _Whatever I just did, I totally didn’t mean to do it_ look.

Winona reaches out to cup his face fondly, and Jim pulls back, embarrassed. She asks him, “How was work?”

Jim shrugs, then accepts Uhura’s offer of a mug of coffee as she bypasses him on her way to see to the diner’s other customers. He sips at it, remarking, “It was fine—same as usual. I think O’Reilly will be able to pick up his van by Monday.”

“That’s good news. He was in here, earlier, hinting that he hoped you knew what you were doing.”

They both roll their eyes. Jim doesn’t feel slighted by O’Reilly’s talk. O’Reilly is a kind of person who spends his life running from one worry to the next. Jim has heard Jose in the garage’s office this past week, trying to assure O’Reilly that the van was salvageable and, _yes_ , Jose had his best mechanic working on it. Jose won’t gripe about dealing with O’Reilly because he will simply increase the repair fees instead. Jim thinks that is a fair kind of justice.

Jim watches Uhura stack two dirty plates at the kitchen window and ring for the dishwasher. Then Uhura turns and scans the diner. Jim notices that her gaze lingers in one place, so he cranes his neck over his shoulder and stares, too.

Riverside is the type of town where either you’re known on sight, people heard you’re coming (like an out-of-state cousin or uncle stopping in for a visit), or you’re an absolute stranger, subject to suspicion. This one in particular, Jim guesses, is the classic kind of stranger, one who has no real destination and fades into the background of every town he passes through.

Jim has always been curious. Plus, he can see the tense line of Deputy Rand’s shoulders. Whether Jim simply wants to aggravate the lawman or he wants to save the rumpled and miserable-looking fellow from an interrogation, he isn’t sure. Jim slips off his stool, intending to carry out his decision, but is stopped by a sudden, tight grip on his arm. Winona releases her hold on him once he looks at her, startled.

“Be careful, Jim,” she warns him.

He nods sharply then grabs his cup of coffee. The stranger doesn’t glance up at Jim when Kirk slides into the opposite side of the booth. Jim takes a quick moment to assess the man: dark hair, a day’s worth of stubble, clothes that probably need laundering, and long tan fingers, one of which has a prominent white band from a missing ring.

Jim leans back, resting an arm along the top of the booth.

“Hey,” he begins, hoping to get a conversation going.

There is minute of silence. A voice, gruff and Southern-accented, finally says, “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Well that’s good,” Jim replies casually, “because I’m not looking for trouble.”

The man looks up then, and Jim stares into a pair of tired, red-rimmed eyes. He frowns, asking, “Are you drunk?”

A snort combined with a derisive “From coffee? ‘Cause that’s what I’m drinking, kid, in case you’re blind” is the man’s response.

“Not blind,” he says. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it.” After a pause, Jim wants to know, “Is the coffee cold?”

He takes the man’s stubborn silence as a _yes_. Jim signals Uhura who is unabashedly watching their exchange. She strides to the table, heels clicking, and refills their mugs as slowly as possible. The man has inexplicably straightened at her presence and nods, saying gravely, “Thank you, ma’am” when she hands his mug back to him.

Jim studies the face illuminated by lanterns of the diner, seeing the dark circles under the eyes, the sharp lines at the mouth, and a lingering grief, too, which is quickly masked when the man turns to scowl at him.

Jim smiles. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” the fellow counters.

“James Kirk,” he offers without hesitation. “Jim.”

“Not to spoil your evening, _Jim_ , but I didn’t ask for company and I don’t want it.”

He cannot help but bristle at that, except before Jim can think to flip the man off or wonder why he is bothering to be friendly to a bastard, a shadow falls across the table.

“Something going on here, boys?” asks Rand.

Jim watches the stranger’s hand stutter, slopping coffee over the rim of his mug. Then the man carefully sets down the mug and lays both of his hands flat on the table, palms down.

Rand isn’t watching Jim at all, but he can imagine the mean look in Rand’s eyes. Kirk goes with his gut and jumps to the man’s defense. “Nothing at all, Deputy,” he responds pleasantly.

Rand’s nostrils flare like he scents the lie Jim is beginning to think up. Rand doesn’t call him on it, however.

Jim adds, blue eyes meeting the wary ones across the booth, “This is my friend from...”

“Georgia,” inputs Jim’s new friend.

“Georgia,” he finishes with a grin.

Rand shifts on his feet, hands twitching at his sides. Jim automatically tenses, though he is certain Rand won’t pull a gun in the diner. “That so?” asks the deputy flatly.

“Yes, Sir,” is the stranger’s quick drawl. “Leonard McCoy, from Georgia.”

Rand stares first at McCoy, then at Jim for much longer. Jim doesn’t flinch under that searching look; he’s had a lot of practice at not flinching around the law, when he was younger and wilder.

“All right, then,” Rand says. He tips his hat at Jim, face sardonic. Jim understands the unspoken warning well enough: _I’ll let you have this one, Kirk_.

When the bell rings, announcing the deputy’s departure, Jim relaxes again. So does McCoy, by the look of him.

“What brings you to Riverside, Iowa, Leonard?” Jim doesn’t believe in using formalities unless he’s speaking to the local reverend or a customer of the garage.

McCoy rubs a hand over his eyes and thumps his head against the back of the booth. Then he sighs and twists at the waist to reach under the booth, lifting up and placing on the tabletop a briefcase. Jim can see that it is worn at the edges, almost battered from use. McCoy opens it and turns the briefcase toward him, inviting Jim to look.

Jim stares inside, then laughs before he can stop himself.

McCoy grimaces and hastily shuts the lid, but not in time to stop Jim’s quick fingers from pulling out a Bible. It’s shiny, obviously new, and its binding still smells faintly of plastic. Jim manages to flip through the first five pages before McCoy yanks it back with “You’ll smear the ink!”

Jim bites down on his smile. “You’re a Bible salesman?” he asks, trying not to sound incredulous.

McCoy swallows a mouthful of coffee after having tucked the Bible back into the briefcase and stares into his mug. He quotes humorlessly, “ _Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure._ ”

Oh, that should not be funny but it _is_ , and the expression on McCoy’s face... Jim has to cough twice. “Are you—are you here to preach the Word, Mr. McCoy?” This time the _Mr._ is warranted, Jim thinks, if only because it makes the joke much better.

Apparently Mr. McCoy does not enjoy Jim’s sense of humor. “Just because I sell it, doesn’t mean I preach it.” The man's hand jerks with a hint of temper, and coffee spills onto the table. McCoy curses sincerely, “ _Goddamn it!_ ”

Jim widens his eyes. “I’m thinking your sales technique sucks.”

“Shut up,” McCoy tells him sourly as he mops at the spilt coffee with a napkin.

"Hey, just calling it like I see it," Jim shoots back.

When Jim's mother appears with a dishrag in hand, McCoy lets her clean up the mess he was making and thanks her politely.

Winona Kirk smiles kindly at Leonard McCoy and asks, "Will you be in Riverside long, Mr. McCoy?" Jim is now certain that he inherited his curiosity from his mother.

"Not sure, ma'am. Maybe."

McCoy is a gentleman to women and an ass to everyone else, Jim decides.

Winona supplies, "There's a motel off Route 76 but it's a bit of a walk." Before either man can respond, she adds, "Jim, why don't you take Mr. McCoy in my truck?"

Jim gapes at his mother but she is ignoring him. McCoy sucks in a breath and begins, "No, that's all right, I could use the exercise..." and Winona runs right over him, too.

"Oh, it will be our pleasure to help, Mr. McCoy. As you can see—" She gestures at the window whose blinds are only half-drawn. "—it's too dark for you to walk alone. Riverside isn't an unsafe town but it has its share of muggers and thieves. I know you didn't arrive by car, so let Jimmy take you."

When she heads to the cash register, Jim barely spares a glance for McCoy and blocks his mother's path on her return trip to the booth. Jim whispers furiously, "What are you doing, Mom?"

"Jim, don't be unkind and make the man walk."

"That's—that isn't what—"

She pats his shoulder. "He seems harmless but if he isn't, I know you can take care of yourself."

Jim glances over his shoulder when a throat clears to gain their attention. McCoy is on his feet, wearing a brown coat patched at the right elbow, briefcase in hand and a hat tucked under his arm. The man carefully draws out a wallet from a coat pocket and asks, "How much?"

Winona slides around Jim and presents the bill to the salesman. McCoy hands her more than enough to cover the cost of his coffee and says, "Look I'll be going now. No ride necessary. Thanks, though." His eyes dart around the diner before he turns about and heads for the door.

Jim is still for only a second or two; then his mother lifts her eyebrow in his direction and, with a muttered " _crap_ ," he takes off in pursuit of Leonard McCoy, only pausing at the diner's entrance as his mother whistles sharply and calls, "Jim!"

She tosses him the keys to the truck.

He pockets them and exits the diner, hoping those Bibles will weigh McCoy down just enough that Jim can catch up to him. When Jim does, wincing at the sound of the truck's brakes ( _needs to be checked_ , he notes) as he rolls to a stop beside McCoy almost five blocks down the street, Jim shouts through the window, "Give me break, and just get in!"

McCoy stares at Jim like he has three heads instead of one. "I don't know you."

He sighs. "I told you, I'm Jim Kirk and that—" He points in the direction of The Diner. "—was my mother. We'll both be in trouble if I don't drive you to the motel, okay?"

Jim thinks McCoy is going to keep walking but he is surprised when the man jerks open the door and climbs into the cab of the truck, settling his briefcase on his knees and then taking off his hat. McCoy's eyes are not quite green when he turns to look at Jim, face somber. Jim had thought they were brown back at the diner.

McCoy turns his face away, toward the window, but Jim hears the soft words: " _Give, and it shall be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, they will pour into your lap. For whatever measure you deal out, it will be dealt to you in return_."

He doesn't ask when McCoy pulls out a flask from the interior of his coat and drinks. Jim doesn't refuse the flask, either, when it is offered to him. Together, they sit in silence until the truck pulls into the parking lot of the motel, its badly lit sign flashing periodically in the dark of the night. Jim's brain likens it to the call of a lighthouse, saying _safety is here, come where it is safe_. He and McCoy both ignore the fact that the shabby motel looks like the least safe place to be.

McCoy puts away the flask, dons his hat, and says, "Thanks, Jim."

Jim returns, "You're welcome" not wanting to say Leonard but not wanting to call the man Mr. McCoy. So he settles for no name at all and McCoy seems to accept that, probably not really caring either way.

He watches Leonard McCoy, man of Georgia and newcomer to Riverside, until the door of the motel office swings shut. Then Jim re-starts the engine of the truck and pulls back onto the road, uncertain of why he feels he is going to see the strange man again.


	2. Part Two

Jim had been joking when he had suggested that McCoy was a terrible Bible salesman. Except now Jim is fairly certain McCoy hasn’t sold one Bible in the two weeks he has been in Riverside. Gossip travels fast, and even if a housewife had deemed McCoy pitiful and bought a book out of sympathy, word would still spread like wildfire: “Buy from the Bible salesman—he’s as thin as a ghost!”

The man lumbers down the streets of Riverside on foot with his overstuffed briefcase and a grim expression that makes kids’ eyes go the size of quarters. Jim has watched McCoy’s progress, covertly, from The Diner windows or from around a street corner while he is on one errand or another. Today Jim is straddling his bike and juggling a bag of groceries when he spies McCoy trudging across 6th street like the man is on a mission from God.

Of course Jim can’t help himself. Intrigued, he slides off his bike and decides that a bit of walking won’t hurt—even if it is into town instead of out of it towards the farm.

McCoy stops at a crosswalk, waiting for the streetlight to change. Jim, brown bag partially hiding his face, lingers next to a lamppost until McCoy is on the other side of the street. Then he trots after the man. Slowly but surely, McCoy pauses on the steps of the town library, frowning, and Jim has to duck into a nearby store—a lingerie boutique, in which three elderly women gasp when he comes barreling through the door—lest he be seen.

Kirk tries peeking through two window mannequins to determine if McCoy has entered the library but Jim's effort is waylaid by a sharp rap on his shoulder. He whips his head around and stares at a familiar redhead.

Jim relaxes and lets his bag of groceries drop into a chair. “Gaila!”

Gaila looks nonplussed, one hand on her hip and her bright red mouth pinched. “Jim,” she says, and he blinks innocently. “What are you doing?”

“Uh...” _Following a Bible salesman?_ He beams and points at the rumpled brown paper bag. “Delivering groceries!”

Gaila seems unconvinced as she eyes the bag. Then, turning to address her customers (most of whom either look infuriated or are still giggling behind a change-room curtain), she calls out, “Did someone order groceries?” Tipping the bag open to peer inside, she lists, “Beer, chocolate milk, cereal, donuts... This is serious man-shopping, Jim. In case your teeny brain didn’t notice, we’re all female here, in a _women’s lingerie shop_.” She bats her eyelashes and pouts prettily to prove her point. Then Gaila drops her playful act and points at the door. “Get out of my store.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, grinning lopsidedly as he collects his bag. Pausing with his back pressed against the door, Jim looks around the shop while he has the chance. Noticing the glare of two women, one of whom who has a hand still pressed to her bosom, his grin widens. “Looking good, ladies!” Jim whistles and winks. Then he is out the door, scuttling out of reach of Gaila’s long manicured nails and her threat to “de-man” him.

He is still grinning once safely down the street, unconsciously walking to the library.

Gaila is a fiery woman, with a temper to match her hair color; she is also just plain gorgeous in Jim’s opinion. They dated once or twice, mostly for show because they both only wanted bed partners. The novelty of that relationship wore off not long after it began, and Gaila and Jim parted ways on good terms. When he feels lonely, he thinks about calling her; but Jim never does, knowing that the comfort would be short-lived and, somehow, he simply wants more than he used to.

Jim stops in front of the library and looks past its steps to the double doors. He stands there for a good number of minutes, tugging at his bottom lip and cradling his beer and donuts. Finally, since there is no good—sane—reason to continue loitering (that’s what Deputy Rand will charge him with, if the man is around), Jim winds his way back to his motorbike.

He can’t stop from wondering, however, exactly what Leonard McCoy thinks he will find in this small nobody’s town. Whatever that something is, Jim doubts it can pay for the motel.

Thinking of more questions than answers, Kirk resolutely tells himself to quit thinking altogether. He enjoys the wind in his hair instead, racing home.

~~~

“A strange thing happened today,” Jim’s mother says as she chops tomatoes for their salad.

Jim pauses in the task of smearing barbecue sauce on the ribs he plans to grill. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” answers Winona, distracted by a search for dressing in the refrigerator. Then she remembers what she was about to tell Jim. “You know that Bible salesman—the one you gave a lift to the Star Hotel?”

Jim works really hard not to squirm and say neutrally, “I think so.” Winona’s sidelong glance at him says he isn’t fooling her. He ducks his head and announces, “I think these are ready,” holding up the plate of ribs.

She motions him out the door. “Go get them started. The gossip can wait.”

He quips, “Food before gossip? What is this world coming to?”

They share a laugh, faces nearly identical in their mirth.

At the Kirk kitchen table in late afternoon, Jim attempts to clean barbeque sauce from his fingers and says, too casually, “So tell me.... about the salesman.”

“Oh!” Winona sips at her iced tea, then leans forward to explain. “Well, you probably know that he eats most meals at our diner.”

Jim says nothing of the “our” because he is long used to the slip. Winona’s grandmother owned The Diner decades ago but when she passed and left it to her son, Winona’s father sold the restaurant, saying he knew nothing of that kind of business and didn’t want to know, either. It’s no secret that Winona, who worked at The Diner into her teens, felt more than heartbroken. She had had a dream it might be hers one day. Winona confessed to Jim once that if she hadn’t met Jim’s father George, she might have attempted to buy the establishment back, laughing sadly “I would have named it something strong and smart, worth visiting, like... like, The Enterprise Diner. Imagine, Jimmy—your mother as an entrepreneur.” Instead, a young Winona fell in love and married. George Kirk went to war and she carried Jim until the news of George’s death, giving birth to her baby prematurely from the shock of the news. After that, raising little Jimmy became a priority. In the scheme of things, a dream ranks much lower than a son.

Jim determinedly draws his attention back to the conversation. His mother is saying: “He comes in like clockwork—at seven-thirty in the morning for two cups of coffee, at a quarter ‘til one—chicken salad on rye—and, for dinner, the special at eight o’clock, no matter _what_ it is, even Hikaru’s meatloaf, which I swear is as hard as a rock!”

Jim nods in agreement. Hikaru Sulu is a decent cook, but strict with schedules. When it’s meatloaf day, The Diner cook makes meatloaf, despite that everyone in town avoids his meatloaf like the plague, yet would willingly pay an arm and a leg for Sulu’s famous beef stew.

“Of course we always have regulars, Jim, so that’s not what was strange. Today, Mr. McCoy didn’t show up for lunch.”

Jim’s stomach does a sudden flip. “You think he’s left town?”

“No, no,” his mother waves off the notion as though it is ridiculous. “What I mean is, he skipped lunch, and instead—" She hesitates like a great storyteller at the height of suspense; Jim encourages her, “C’mon, Mom!” to finish.

“—someone else showed up. Looking for McCoy.”

Jim blinks, taking a moment to comprehend the implications. “The law?” he asks, feeling unusually dry-mouthed. Jim has to swallow some water from his glass to ease the sensation.

Winona shakes her head. “No, not a policeman.” She stands up abruptly, saying, “Just a minute.” When Winona returns from the laundry room, her waitress’s apron in hand, she holds out a small business card for Jim to take.

He looks at it carefully and frowns. “How do you even pronounce—? Something, something Spock, Attorney at Law. _A lawyer?_ Why’s a lawyer looking for McCoy?”

Winona collects her dishes. “I have no idea, Jimmy. Maybe he inherited a family fortune.”

Jim pictures McCoy—brown coat, brown hat, brown hair, good-looking (and, okay, so that doesn’t make his point)—trying to think of the man as anything other than nondescript, like a lordling in coattails holding a wine glass. The vision tickles him, actually.

His mother doesn’t understand his chuckle. She looks pointedly at his dinner plate, and Jim sighs, carrying his own dishes to the sink. After scraping the food into the disposal and rinsing them off for a run through the electric dishwasher, he leans against the kitchen counter, elbows propped and listens to his mother hum as she cleans. The sound of it never fails to bring up good memories of his childhood.

Shaking himself away from the past, Jim muses. “Are you suggesting McCoy didn’t show at the diner because he doesn’t want to be found by this Spock guy?”

Winona says, “Why else would he pass up our chicken salad on rye?”

Jim crosses his ankles and turns his head to stare out the kitchen window at the distant wheat fields. “So if he knows Spock is in town, he will lie low. Meaning, no dinner tonight at the diner.”

Winona towels her hands dry and faces him. “We have plenty of the ribs left. Some salad, too, and maybe corn on the cob?”

Jim smiles. “You’ve a heart of gold, Mom.”

She laughs and pulls him into a hug. “It must be genetic, then. I love you, Jimmy.”

He drops his head onto her shoulder, just briefly, and tightens his arms. “Love you too.”

Then she lets him go, amused at his silly grin, and begins to pull out Tupperware to pack a dinner for an undoubtedly hungry man named Leonard McCoy.

~~~

Jim is prepared to sweet-talk the elderly lady who runs the motel office. He finds a young man ( _can’t be older than sixteen_ , Jim decides) behind the counter instead.

“Hello?” Jim calls out, shifting his two bags of dinner. Winona Kirk doesn’t believe in economy, not when it comes to feeding people.

The guy beams broadly at Jim, face as innocent as a babe’s, and says, “Hello! Vould you like a wroom?”

Riverside isn’t exactly the backwoods of America but Jim hasn’t heard an authentic Russian accent since his days at Iowa State University (and those days were very brief).

He smiles carefully. “I’m sorry, I have a, uh, delivery for Mr. McCoy and I forgot his room number. I’m from The Diner,” Jim adds helpfully.

The boy nods vigorously, saying, “Yes, yes, I can help!” as he skims through the motel registry. “He’s in Room 26. That’s at the end.”

Jim says, “Hey, thanks” and reaches for the door but the office attendant has hurried around the counter to get the door for him. “Thanks again,” he remarks as he walks out of the office. When Jim glances over his shoulder, the guy still has the door ajar, watching Jim make his way to Room 26. Jim tries not to feel paranoid; the boy is simply curious, bored, or both.

Jim sets down one of his bags with care, then knocks on the door. When no one responds, Jim knocks again and hopes fervently that McCoy is in his room and Jim won’t be caught red-handed in a lie. Then the closed room curtains rustle just enough to give away someone’s presence inside. Jim raps more sharply on the door the third time around and says, “It’s Jim—Jim Kirk.” Then, for good measure, “Don’t make me pick the lock.”

He listens to the sound of a chain being drawn back. Then the door cracks open and Jim gets a good look at one of McCoy’s eyes—which is, again, a light brown. “You know how to pick locks?” asks the salesman.

Jim lifts his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. Then he holds up the plastic bag in his left hand. “I brought your dinner.”

“I didn’t order any food.”

Jim sighs exasperatedly. “No, but we didn’t think you’d be at the diner tonight.” He shakes the bag enticingly. “There are ribs in here.”

The door opens further, a hand snaking out, but Jim dances back with his prize. “Nope, you gotta let me in first.”

McCoy jerks the door completely open and glares at him. “Fine,” he snaps. “Come in, you overgrown baby.”

Jim grins in triumph, slides past McCoy and into the small motel room. He immediately begins to unpack the food, announcing each item as he does so. Finally finished laying out the meal, Jim turns around to find McCoy staring at him, face unreadable.

“What?” he asks, self-conscious. “You’re not allergic to blueberries, are you?”

“No,” the man says, shaking his head. “The cobbler sounds good. ...My grandma used to make it all the time.” McCoy flinches after he says that and takes a step back, away from Jim.

Jim makes a show of tucking his hands into his pockets and tries not to do anything to alarm McCoy. “I guess,” he says, “I ought to go now. Enjoy the food. I’ll give your compliments to my mom.”

Jim’s hand is on the doorknob when McCoy says roughly, “Wait.”

He turns, a clear question in the line of his body and on his face.

McCoy lets out a deep sigh. “I can’t eat all that. Do you want some?”

“Sure.”

When Jim reaches for the dessert first, McCoy remarks dryly, “I doubt that’s how your mama imagines a man starting a meal.”

He laughs. “Oh, definitely not, but I’ve already had my fill of the rest. ‘Sides, her cobbler is fantastic.” He digs for another plastic spoon and offers it to McCoy with a hint of _if you dare_.

The man quirks his mouth and takes a big bite of the cobbler, closing his eyes and making an appreciative noise afterward. Jim has to look away, suddenly hot-faced, and distracts himself by removing the lids from the other Tupperware dishes.

They enjoy the food in silence for some minutes before Jim decides to pry. When he lays down his fork, McCoy does too. The salesman wipes his mouth with a napkin and looks at Jim expectantly, one eyebrow lifted.

Jim pulls his hand out of his pocket and, with it, a card which he hands to McCoy.

The man glances at the card, then slowly stands up and walks to a small waste bin. Jim watches him rip it into pieces and let them float down to join the other trash.

“Are you in trouble?” Jim blurts out, his mouth suddenly betraying him.

The look Jim is given is half-amusement, half-surprise. “No, I doubt it,” Kirk is told.

“Then, why—?” Jim gestures at the waste bin.

McCoy cocks his head, studying Kirk. “You make it your business to know too much, kid. I could ask you the same: why?”

“Because my life is boring?” He makes it a question.

“Is that why you follow me around town, too?”

Jim opens his mouth but nothing smart comes out. He fights down a blush. “Sorry.”

Surprisingly, McCoy laughs. The laugh is deep, genuine, filled with a hint of a man Jim thinks he would like to know better. Then McCoy turns away abruptly, like he had forgotten where he was or how he was supposed to be feeling.

Jim hesitates for only a second before rising. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I get it—personal business and all that. I won’t ask, if you don’t want to talk about it.” He swallows, saying out of nowhere but meaning it, “I won’t tell this... Spock where you are. You have my word.”

A hand on Jim's shoulder stops him from leaving.

McCoy is assessing Kirk, looking more tired than Jim has ever seen him. “Why would you do this for me, Jim?” the man wants to know.

He responds easily, “Why not?” With a wavering lift of his mouth, Jim lets himself out of Room 26 and heads for his mother’s truck parked next to the motel office. Jim is completely unsurprised to note the blond-haired Russian standing at the office window, staring unabashedly at Jim.

 _No doubt wondering why a delivery boy spends a half hour with a customer,_ Jim thinks.

He puts the truck into reverse and peels out of the Star Motel parking lot, all the while glancing back in the rearview mirror of the truck.

~~~

Jim stomps through the kitchen door, wondering how he managed to walk through a mud puddle when it hasn’t rained in days. “Hey, Mom, I guess I ought to tell you that he liked—" he begins to shout.

Winona appears at the kitchen door, saying low and fierce “ _Jim_ ” and that shuts Kirk up like no other warning could. He crosses the kitchen in three long strides and looks into her face.

“What is it?”

She bites her lip and deliberately glances in the direction of the stairs.

Jim is past her in an instant, already trying to remember where he keeps his baseball bat. Except he doesn’t have time to pull it from the hall closet before someone comes down the staircase. Jim stills, staring up into the face of a man with sharp cheekbones, neatly cropped black hair, and the calm expression of somebody who knows where he is and what he is doing. It's not the look of a criminal or a serial killer.

Jim swallows when the man descends the last steps and says, “Mr. Kirk, I presume?”

He drags in a breath to answer, voice short and suspicious, “Yes. Jim Kirk. What are you doing in my mother’s house?”

A finely shaped eyebrow rises. “I am renting a room from Ms. Kirk” is the answer.

Jim steps back, pivoting, only to find his mother right behind him.

“Jim,” Winona says, “this is Mr. Spock. He is in town for...”

“An indeterminate amount of time,” Mr. Spock replies smoothly.

“For a while,” finishes Jim’s mother. “On business. He’s a lawyer, Jim.”

Jim puts his back to Spock and hisses, “Why are we renting to him?”

His mother gives him a warning look. “You know I rent out the guest bedrooms to supplement my income.”

Yes, he knows that. The Kirk house has been an unexceptional bed-and-breakfast for years, since Jim was about ten and his mother told him they needed to the extra money to keep the farm. People in town will recommend their home to decent-looking folk who need a room for the night or the week and don’t like the look of the Star Motel.

What he doesn’t understand is why his mother would rent to Mr. Spock. Of course, by her expression, she doesn’t understand why he thinks she shouldn’t. Realizing she won’t budge, Jim makes one last appraisal of Mr. Spock and says, “Welcome. I hope you’ll find your stay... enjoyable.”

Then he goes back to the kitchen, not waiting for a reply (which he knows is rude), and pops the top off a beer he keeps in the back of the refrigerator.

Winona eyes the bottle in his hand and crosses her arms. “Don’t be angry, Jimmy.”

“I’m not. I’m just, shit, I don’t know what I am right now.”

“Don’t use that language, either.”

“So I should pretend I didn’t hear you cussing at the dryer last week?”

She answers primly, “Exactly.”

Jim dumps the rest of the beer down the sink drain then throws it away. “Mom, I don’t understand. What if—“ He trails off.

“What if what? Look, baby, we’re not doing anything wrong. Whatever business is between Mr. Spock and Mr. McCoy—well, we aren’t involved.” She touches his arm. “And we shouldn’t take sides.”

“I know.” He sighs.

His mother smiles. “Now what were you going to say earlier? Tell me, just don’t shout it.”

Jim scratches the back of his head. “The guy liked your cobbler,” he says, being purposefully vague.

Her eyes are smiling along with her mouth. “That’s good. Seems you enjoyed a second helping, too.”

He squirms. “How did you know?”

She pulls at his ear. “Your tongue, Jimmy. It’s blue.”

He groans and puts a hand over his eyes, hoping Mr. Spock wasn’t observant enough to pick that detail out. Then Jim straightens, rolls his shoulders, and grabs his jacket. “I’ll be right back.”

Winona is putting away the dishes in the dishwasher. “Jimmy, it’s dark. You know I don’t like the thought of you traveling so late.”

“I won’t be long,” he calls halfway out the door. “I just need to pick up some clothes.”

Then Winona is on the back steps, saying, “Whatever for?”

He pauses before pulling on a helmet. “If Spock’s staying here, so am I.”

She rolls her eyes but Jim knows she will be glad to have him in the house. Besides, Jim can’t think of a better way to protect his mother _and_ keep an eye on Mr. Spock at the same time.

The ride to his small apartment seems short, hastened by an anxiety and an excitement that Jim can’t quite figure out. He tosses three days’ worth of clothes into an old camping backpack, grabs his work shoes, and is on the road again in fifteen minutes.

For the first time in a long, long while, Jim thinks his life is about to take a turn from “boring.” But exactly where it’s headed next, he has little clue.


	3. Part Three

In early morning, Mr. Spock enters the kitchen of the Kirk farm and announces “I slept well” like Jim had bothered to ask.

Jim hadn’t asked because Jim’s best intention is to keep stuffing scrambled eggs into his mouth so he doesn’t get into trouble by speaking his mind.

Winona Kirk, standing in front of the stove flipping bacon in a skillet, turns to smile good-naturedly at her house guest. “Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Spock?”

“Tea would be pleasant, Ms. Kirk.”

Jim mumbles “Tea for breakfast?” while still chewing.

“Jim,” his mother comments though she isn’t looking at him, “swallow your food first, then talk.”

He tries to downplay the chastening ( _geez, he’s an adult!_ ) but such a feat proves difficult, especially with Spock, in a perfectly pressed suit, staring on as Jim blushes like a school boy. The lawyer blinks once as whatever interesting quality Jim might have momentarily had passes.

Jim wants to shake loose from the feeling of Spock’s eyes on him, so he proclaims loudly, “Time to go! Thanks for the eggs, Mom.”

Jim takes his plate to the sink, kisses his mother on the cheek, and collects his jacket and change of clothes for work. Pausing at the kitchen door, he turns toward the pair of people, remarking, “You know where I’ll be"—though it’s more of a warning that he knows where Spock will be and not to try anything funny in Jim’s absence. Nodding to the now-seated lawyer (who looks quite foreign in a country kitchen), Jim says politely but pointedly, “Mr. Spock.”

“Mr. Kirk,” is the lawyer’s prompt reply, complete with an incline of the head, “may you arrive at your place of work safely.”

As Jim revs the engine of his bike, he wonders if Spock even knows how out-of-place a fancy lawyer is in Riverside, Iowa. Here, the best lawyer is also the manager of the town’s only casino. That man, one Mr. Harcourt Mudd, is slick-haired, loves gold rings, and only wears a jacket (but no tie) if he goes to the courthouse. Even then Mudd is liable to be accenting a track suit with his jacket, certainly nothing more decorous.

No, not many folks in Riverside are from old (or new) money—and if they are, they only flaunt it a little, maybe through the kind of car they drive or in the small details, like owning a silk pocket handkerchief instead of a cotton one. Spock, however, is both visually elite (in the properly straight line of his back and the lack of dirt beneath his fingernails—Jim noticed that first) and elite in personality and behavior, too: reserved countenance; erudite speech; and in the way Spock pays for a meal or cab ride—never once glancing at the bill pulled from his wallet and never asking for change.

Plain men like Jim always have to count their cash and save their spare quarters in a jar for pipe-dreams.

Thinking of Spock makes Jim wonder for the umpteenth time, bereft of any answers: How is threadbare McCoy connected to an obviously successful man like Mr. Spock?

~~~

“Long lunch?” calls Jim’s boss over the drone of music from an old radio.

Jim unbuttons and removes his shirt, exposing a dingy white tee beneath, and steps into his mechanic’s overalls. Once he is properly attired, he investigates what Jose is up to, finding the older man waist deep in engine parts. “Hey, you need some help?”

“You didn’t answer my question, chico.” Jose can be like a dog with a bone sometimes, hard to shake loose from a particularly obnoxious question.

Jim shrugs casually.

Jose hands Jim a rag and a small valve to polish. Then Jose repeats, like Jim expects, “So... long lunch.”

“Man, why aren’t you a cop or something?” Jim props his hip against a work table and cleans the dirt from the corners of the valve, resigned to an interrogation.

Jose says, “When you don’t come in on time, I worry, comprende?”

“Bullshit!” Jim almost laughs. “You like to live vicariously, don’t deny it.” He follows the words closely with a put-upon sigh, and Jose snorts. Jim decides to save his boss from having to ask a third time. “I had lunch with a friend.”

“Not at your mother's diner,” Jose adds matter-of-factly.

Jim is startled. “How did you know?”

“Because,” explains the dark-haired man, using his socket wrench like a pointer, “the diner is _left_ from our parking lot. You went right.”

“I was at the Star.”

Jose rolls his eyes, clearly convinced of why Jim would be at a motel during lunch hour. “Dios. Was she pretty, at least?” Then he looks at Jim appraisingly. “The redhead, si?”

“No,” Jim corrects hastily. (And why did his voice just squeak? He’s not fourteen and Jose is _not_ his father.) Realizing what his boss must be thinking, Jim begins, “C’mon, Jose, do you really—?” At the man’s smirk, Jim folds his arms defensively, forgetting about the dirty rag in his hand. “I was with a guy, all right?”

Now Jose shrugs and says almost piously, “I do not judge.”

Jim doesn’t deny that he bats for no team in particular, so to speak, but he does defend his honor—and McCoy’s. “It was the, um, salesman.”

Jose blinks. “Salesman.”

“Jesus, Jose, you do realize this garage is in a _city_ in _state_ in a country on a continent of planet Earth? There’s a whole world outside, and lots of people— _like salesmen_ —out there, too.”

Jose’s look says he gets Jim’s point—and Jim had better shut up fast. “Who is the salesman?”

Jim's boss drops all pretenses of being more interested in work than gossip. Jim supposes even the stoutest of men can sometimes be akin to a bored housewife at the dinner party.

“Well,” Jim begins, settling into a comfortable slouch and a story, “his name is Leonard McCoy, from _Georgia_ —“ Jim drawls this for effect like McCoy would. “—and he sells Bibles. I mean, I think he does.” Jim had snuck a peek into that ancient briefcase and found it still packed with product.

Is McCoy pretending to be a Bibles salesman—and if so, why?

It can’t be that the man doesn’t know his scripture. Just two hours ago, McCoy had taken a long look at Jim upon opening his motel door to find Kirk grinning on the other side and said, “ _As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly._ ” Jim, of course, had balked with “No way, you just made that shit up!” The man simply replied, “Proverbs 26:11—new international version. Go educate yourself.”

Jim now resolutely believes Riverside’s good reverend is keeping the wrong (less interesting) biblical edition in the church pews.

He hadn’t been able to convince McCoy to leave Room 26 but, luckily, Jim had come prepared with fast food. They had one burger with fries apiece, Leonard washing down the food with something that smelled alcoholic while Jim drank tap water.

Neither McCoy nor Jim is any closer to figuring out why they seem drawn to each other. (Though, Jim admits that he could be wrong and the feeling isn’t mutual.) He doesn’t ask, and McCoy doesn’t say whether or not he appreciates Jim’s company. But Jim did discover something of importance today, and he is flying kind of high in the aftermath.

He found the perfect nickname for Leonard McCoy.

“Yo, Jim!”

Kirk jerks his head up, surprised that his thoughts had drifted so thoroughly off-track. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “What was I saying?”

“The Bible salesman who doesn’t sell Bibles.”

Jim blinks. “Er, that about summarizes him.”

Jose shakes his head, his mutter so low that Jim can’t quite make out the words. They are, without a doubt, uncomplimentary.

When Jose is done swearing in a mixture of Spanish and a language that might be Portuguese, Jose shakes his wrench at Jim, a telltale sign of an impending lecture. Jim inwardly cringes.

“I know Jim Kirk,” Jose begins solemnly, “and Jim Kirk is not a God-fearing man. What you said about this McCoy—it tells me nothing of why he interests you.” Jose’s English is as flawless as his Spanish. It should be; the man grew up in Cincinnati before moving to Riverside to care for an ailing aunt. (“ _The only true love I left back home—the Cincinnati Reds, my friend,_ ” Jose once remarked to Jim as they listened to a radio broadcast of a local baseball game.) “I think that whatever _does_ interest you may lead you into a bad situation, Jim.”

“I don’t know what it is about him, Jose,” Jim says softly, thinking. “There’s... not anything in particular. Bones is just a guy down on his luck." He smiles ruefully. "You know us Kirks—bleeding hearts.” He meant to say that sarcastically but mostly it’s true and they both know it.

Jose eyes him and repeats, “Bones?”

Jim grins, unrepentant, his euphoric feeling returning. “McCoy's new name. How do you like it?”

“Probably as much as your McCoy does. Though it’s better than Mr. Nibbles,” Jose says, sighing and scratching the side of his nose.

Jim instantly glances about. The stray tuxedo cat likes to hang out in the alley behind Jose’s Auto Repair Shop. Unbeknownst to Jose, Jim keeps cans of Fancy Feast hidden in an old toolbox to feed Mr. Nibbles. This, Jim knows, is probably why Mr. Nibbles continues to show up; fairly regular meals and Jim’s predilection for cuddling cute kitties makes for a decent life for an alley cat.

Jose’s “I said _no_ , Jim. No cats in my garage!” is a dream-killer.

Jim wonders if Sulu likes cats. Or Bones. Yeah, Bones because the man is obviously lacking in good company (barring Jim of course).

Jim congratulates himself on another winner of a nickname. Granted, he doesn’t know how McCoy feels about “Bones” because Jim has only called him that once—after their somewhat conversationally stilted lunch, a talk which mainly consisted of McCoy’s monosyllabic answers to Jim’s curious questions. Until, that is, Jim asked if McCoy had a single outfit, seeing the same clothes on the man again, and McCoy had laughed too bitterly and retorted, “I’m piss-poor, kid. Got nothing left but my bones.”

If Bones is that poor, then he certainly can’t refuse a little help from Jim. Maybe tonight or tomorrow night, Jim decides, he can coax the salesman out of his hidey hole and on a small adventure. Jim has dealt with stubborn people before, and Winona says Kirk stubbornness can trump regular, old stubbornness any day. (Of course she pointed out that she was a Kirk by marriage and not liable for Jim’s eccentricities.) He believes without a doubt that Bones will cave after an hour of wheedling.

~~~

Jim always stops by The Diner, if not for food then for company. It's practically his second home.

Uhura pushes aside Jim's half-eaten tuna melt and leans across the counter on her elbows, smiling. Jim leans in, too, with a grin that means he is fully prepared to play her game. She wrinkles her nose, not appreciative of his tuna-breath, and offers him a mint. He pops it in his mouth with a salute than makes her bat at his head.

The Diner is quiet business-wise in the late afternoon. Its typical background noises prove soothing to a man in need of peace: the low hum of the ice machine; the scrape of utensils against dishes and clink of glasses; muffled sounds of Sulu in the kitchen.

Uhura’s “How’s McCoy?” wipes the grin right from Jim’s face. He immediately hisses “Shh!” and looks purposefully over his shoulder at a booth occupied by Mr. Spock. The lawyer is surrounded by papers, his expressionless face giving nothing away as he organizes them into stacks, pausing once and a while to peruse a highlighted note or a handwritten comment.

A strange, twisty feeling returns to Jim’s gut as he studies Spock’s profile.

“ _Jim!_ ” Uhura snaps his name like she has said it several times already.

He looks sheepish before sobering. “You can’t talk about McCoy here,” Jim whispers.

She tips her head at Spock. “I’ve seen him in town, snooping.”

Jim pictures a tall, impeccably dressed man at a street corner, observing everyone and everything with calm, dark eyes. Jim shudders and swallows a mouthful of coffee, then shudders again at the unpleasant coldness of the coffee.

Uhura refills his mug without a word, turning the mug's handle toward Jim. They both study the steam rising into the air for a second; Uhura’s face is speculative, Jim’s pensive.

“You’re really into the guy, aren’t you, Jim?” she asks softly.

He shakes his head, a quick denial. “No—no way. I don’t know him.”

“Then why do you care?” Jim sounds like more of a mystery to Uhura than the stranger Leonard McCoy.

“Bo—" Jim coughs, covering up his slip. "He’s got a good reason to hide,” Jim says. At the waitress’s knowing look, Jim defensively adds, “And he'll tell me why, I know he will.”

“Sure, Jim, but don’t hold your breath, okay?” she advises.

Then a customer interrupts their heart-to-heart by approaching the cash register and Uhura sighs, returning to work and leaving Jim to contemplate if it's possible that he might attracted to McCoy for reasons other than being nosy.

~~~

Two nights later, Jim wheedles as planned and McCoy breaks down just inside of a ten-minute onslaught of Kirk puppy-dog eyes. McCoy repeats more than once that he is only participating in Jim's proposed plan of action because Jim has caught him at his weakest moment of mental fortitude—utter boredom.

Jim ignores McCoy's complaints about the motorcycle helmet aggravating his claustrophobia.

“Whatever, Bones,” Jim tells the man who is obstinately attempting to get comfortable behind Jim on the bike (which, in Jim’s opinion, is impossible to accomplish). “You’re just mad that you're wearing the helmet and I'm not.”

“Sometimes I think your brain is already mush, kid—“ is McCoy’s retort. An elbow jabs into Jim’s side as the man latches onto Jim’s jacket, undoubtedly feeling unbalanced. “—which means you cracking your unprotected head on the asphalt couldn’t damage it any worse. But _my_ brain is in good shape, and I want to keep it that way!”

“You are always this bitchy?”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, I’m being a nice guy. You haven’t seen daylight in almost four days—" Jim cuts his eyes at McCoy. "—which is bad unless you’re a vampire and sunlight is evil.” Jim adds sweetly, enough to irritate McCoy, “So if you're a vamp, could you please refrain from biting my neck while I drive?”

He feels McCoy seething through the leather of his jacket. Jim laughs, loud and pleased, and starts the bike. McCoy’s grip tightens until Jim thinks the man might be trying to suffocate him via hug.

The ride is short by Jim’s standards but apparently long and deadly by Leonard McCoy's.

McCoy slides off the bike after Jim, saying in a slightly breathless voice, “We didn’t crash.”

Jim’s sidelong glance is amused. “We might have if you had kept leaning the other way around that curve.”

McCoy’s face flushes. “Damned unnatural” and "laws of physics, my ass" the man mutters as he follows Jim into the consignment shop.

Jim nods to the shop-owner and heads directly for the racks of the men’s clothing. He is skimming over the sizes, trying to decide what might fit McCoy best when a low and hissed “Jim!” catches his attention.

Jim turns and blinks. “What, Bones?”

McCoy hesitates but lets the nickname slide. “The sign on the door says this place is closed.”

Jim blinks again and purposefully looks around. “Lights are on, door is unlocked, and—oh look—there’s Mrs. Giotto. Hi, Mrs. Giotto!" He waves enthusiastically at the woman.

McCoy looks like he wants to sink into the floor when the woman beams and waves back. Jim turns to the rack next to him and grabs a shirt, holding it up. “What about this one?”

“No.”

He presents another shirt.

“ _No._ ”

After rolling his eyes at the vehement rejection, Jim spies a winner. He grabs it and holds it against McCoy’s chest, eyes twinkling. “This one, definitely, Bones.”

The look on McCoy’s face is priceless. “I’m not a flamingo, Jim.”

“Really?” Jim rocks back on his heels in mock surprise. “I thought you had come all the way from the glades of Florida...”

“Georgia.”

“...for the winter.”

“It’s summer, and flamingos don’t migrate to Iowa.”

“Oh Bones, you know so much!”

“ _Up yours._ ”

Bones is the mouthiest Bible salesman Jim has ever met.

They continue their banter while they look for McCoy’s new wardrobe until Jim is certain McCoy has forgotten about the mystery of Mrs. Giotto’s shop being open past normal closing hours. He likes Mrs. Giotto—was good friends with her son in high school (then Sammy went to college and stayed, and Jim didn’t)—and he loves her giving nature. She had easily agreed to Jim’s idea, patting him on the shoulder and saying, “ _It is more blessed to give than to receive._ ”

Jim figures scripting quoting is a bonus—something Mrs. Giotto and McCoy have in common.

An hour passes by quickly and when Jim and McCoy make their way to the front of the shop, Jim has an armful of clothes with a pair of shoes balanced precariously on top. He dumps everything into a big black trash bag that Mrs. Giotto is patiently holding open.

Jim glances at McCoy, sees the man searching his pockets, and shakes his head. “No, Bones.”

“I won’t accept money,” adds Mrs. Giotto meaningfully when McCoy looks at them, taken aback. She pushes the bag into Jim’s chest and he automatically wraps his arms around it and waddles toward the door—or where he thinks the door might be. The bag is blocking a majority of his view.

Kirk hears Mrs. Giotto behind him.

“Jim tells me your name is Leonard McCoy.” Jim catches her silent rebuke that he failed to introduce them properly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My, aren’t you handsome?”

Jim cackles into the plastic of the trash bag. Mrs. Giotto is sweet but devious—and the town matchmaker. Jim can almost hear the gears in her head turning at the prospect of a fresh sacrifice to the deity of love.

“Welcome to Riverside, Leonard. Oh, I can call you Leonard, can’t I?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s fine.” McCoy clears his throat. “Ma’am, I appreciate your kindness but, uh, I can’t accept—“

“Oh look, Jimmy’s at the door. Won’t you get it for him, Mr. McCoy? There’s a dear.”

Jim whines for good measure, “Bones, c’mon.”

The door almost whaps Jim in the face when McCoy jerks it open. Luckily, the blow is deflected by the bag of clothes; Jim pouts at McCoy nonetheless. Once out of Mrs. Giotto’s shop, Bones seems disinclined to help Jim maneuver down the sidewalk. In fact, if Jim didn’t know better, his new friend might be pissed.

Okay. Bones is very much pissed. But Jim has never claimed to be a saint, and he has a secret love of being sneaky. Bones will get over it, and Jim won’t have to see the same shirt three days in a row.

Setting down the bag on the seat of his bike, Jim looks dismayed.

Next to him, McCoy’s bitchiness has found its voice again. “So how do we get home, genius?”

“We’ll put it between us.”

“Hell no! There’s no room! I’ll fall off.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re an idiot!”

Jim turns and snaps, “Do you want to sit upfront then?”

“I can’t drive a motorcycle.” McCoy looks pale at the thought.

Jim’s anger is gone as quickly as it surfaced. “It’s okay. We’ll be fine, Bones.” He gives the bag to McCoy and climbs onto the bike. “You may need to iron the clothes when you get home but I promise... _we can do it_. Trust me?”

McCoy settling in behind him with the press of the bag between them is answer enough.

They make it back to the Star Motel without incident. Jim feels rather proud of his careful driving and slow-taking of the turns in the road. McCoy, on the other hand, goes straight for his flask of whiskey once safely on two feet again. Jim is left behind to tug the bag of clothes into the motel room and shut the door.

“Bones?”

McCoy is limp on the bed, an arm over his eyes. “What, Jim?” comes the ragged words. “For God’s sake, what _now?_ ”

Trying not to feel hurt, Jim occupies himself with sorting through the shirts and pants, folding them and wincing at their numerous wrinkles. Jim accidentally bumps his elbow when he searches through the tiny motel closet for an iron. At Jim’s half-hiss, half-whimper, McCoy rolls off the bed and to his feet, asking, “Shit, kid, what did you do to yourself?”

“Nothing,” he grits out, lowering his arm to his side. “Just knocked my funny bone.”

“Oh,” says McCoy, “okay.”

They stare at each other for a solid minute. Jim swallows, caught by McCoy’s eyes, and his mouth apparently detaches from his brain and confesses, “Mr. Spock’s staying at my farm.”

That couldn’t have come out worse unless he had said “I’m in cahoots with the devil and his name is Spock.”

Jim jumps in before McCoy can say anything and attempts to save what little camaraderie they have. “I mean, he’s renting a room from my mom but that has nothing to do with you, I swear.”

McCoy’s eyes have darkened, which Jim finds unsettling. “Spock being in Riverside has everything to do with me.”

“He doesn’t know where you are.”

“Doesn’t he?” asks McCoy in an odd voice.

Jim isn’t meant to answer that; he couldn’t if he was supposed to. Instead he apologizes. “I’m sorry, Bones.”

McCoy turns away, saying, “Doesn’t matter.” Then after a pause, he adds softly, “Thank you for telling me.”

Jim shifts uncomfortably, not knowing what he should do. His mouth hasn’t reattached itself to his brain yet, unfortunately. “Will you leave?”

McCoy’s reply isn’t informative at all. “I don’t know.”

“What can I do to help?”

The man makes an aborted gesture. “You’ve done plenty, Jim. I don’t know why but you have.”

“ _Love thy neighbor,_ ” Jim quotes badly.

McCoy’s mouth quirks and he raises an eyebrow. The tension breaks. McCoy walks over to the table and drops a hand onto a stack of shirts. “It’s late, Jim. You should go.”

Jim has always been the type to buck against an order, implied or outright. He crosses his arms and argues, “What about Spock?”

McCoy frowns at him. “Spock isn’t your problem.”

“He’s in _my mother’s house_. I’d say that kind of makes it my problem, too, Bones.”

“Jim,” McCoy says and Jim can hear a hint of humor in his voice, “Spock isn’t a whacko. He’ll leave eventually and your mother will be fine—except for missing the generous rent money, I expect.”

Jim stares. “Are you saying you know him?”

McCoy’s face smoothes out. “That’s not your business.”

“Bones! Fuck. _Seriously?_ You show up saying you sell Bibles—which, by the way, _you don’t sell at all_ —and then this rich lawyer shows up, too, looking for you but without telling anybody _why_ —“

“Jim.”

Jim isn’t feeling the need to be fair right now. “—and you don’t want to be found. Which kind of makes people think you’re crazy or dangerous or both, Bones, did you realize that? All I get from you— _me_ , the guy who brings you food and takes you shopping—“

“I didn’t ask for your help, Jim! I just want to be alone!”

“—is a big, fat ‘It’s none of your God-damned business!’” Jim finishes grandly, certain his body must be vibrating as intensely as his voice.

McCoy’s mouth presses into a thin line but he isn’t yelling back anymore. “What do you want from me?”

“I want a reason to trust you,” Jim says.

At McCoy’s silence, Jim realizes that he just crossed a line that he can’t backpedal over. He also realizes that McCoy is either going to follow him over that line or leave him alone on the other side—and effectively end whatever relationship they might have before it begins.

McCoy chooses. He offers to Jim, albeit tiredly: “Spock is my lawyer.”

Winona would say Jim could catch flies with his mouth hanging open like it is now. “What?”

McCoy shrugs as if to say _I told you an explanation would be pointless._

Jim shakes his head slowly, his brain trying in vain to connect tiny, tiny dots. “You’re being stalked by your own lawyer? Whoa.”

McCoy looks like he can’t decide between making fun of Jim’s slapped look or bitching about the fact that he _is_ being stalked by Spock.

Jim settles onto the edge of the bed and folds his legs Indian-style. “Tell me,” he commands.

McCoy makes a gesture somewhere between _I can’t_ and _what is there to say?_ “Jim...”

Jim isn't afraid to ask. “So you hired Mr. Spock... why?”

McCoy’s Adam’s apple bobs. When the man faces away, only to stare at his reflection in the dresser mirror, McCoy curses and closes his eyes.

Jim waits patiently, knowing that waiting is all he needs to do.

Finally McCoy lifts a hand, running his fingers through his hair, and opens his eyes again. Once he is facing Jim, he holds out that same hand. They both inspect it, Jim seeing nothing unusual. McCoy sighs softly, barely a whisper of air, and says, “I hired him for my divorce, at first.”

Jim bites his bottom lip, hating the look in McCoy’s eyes—it’s pained, almost despairing.

“My wife—ex-wife—wanted everything, Jim. Which would have been fine,” McCoy clarifies, bitter, “except there was Jo to consider.”

“Jo?” Jim’s heart pounds suddenly because McCoy says the name in a gentle, almost reverent voice.

“Joanna.” McCoy’s eyes are more green than brown now. “My daughter, Jim. My baby girl.”

Jim says nothing as McCoy sags next to him on the bed; Jim looks away, too, to give the man time to collect himself—and wipe his eyes.

“How old is she?”

“Six. She just turned six.”

Too young to be away from her father, Jim thinks. He wonders what kind of woman would not let a decent man like McCoy near his own kid. The thought of Joanna—like a young Jimmy—sitting by a window, only to waste a wish on a shooting star for a visit from her father makes him miserable and a little angry. Jim slides off the bed, startling McCoy.

“That’s not right.” Jim wants to say more but finds that he cannot without compromising a deeply personal issue of his own.

McCoy regains his voice. “What?”

Jim drops the motel curtains back into place from where he had lifted them in an unexplicable need to see the night sky. “Your child is only six years old, Bones. How can it be fair to Joanna to deny her one of her parents? It’s not like you’re a crappy father.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t need evidence of something that’s obvious. You wouldn’t be this heartbroken if you didn’t care about her.”

McCoy shakes his head. “There’s a lot more to parenting than loving somebody, Jim. I—I made some mistakes. I hurt my wife.”

“And she hurt you back,” Jim finishes. “Did you cheat on her?”

McCoy reddens but says, “No, I didn’t cheat on her. I also didn’t try very hard to fix the problems in our marriage. We just, we weren’t going to work,” he concludes, sounding like he has said that many times before.

“So Mr. Spock,” Jim tentatively asks, trying to steer the conversation away from a potentially devastating emotional minefield, “is here to collect his fees?”

McCoy’s bark of laughter is like a gunshot shattering silence. “Hardly. He’s been paid, Jim. A lawyer always gets paid, no matter the outcome for his client.” After a brief pause, McCoy confesses quietly, “We lost the custody case.” McCoy's shoulders slump in defeat.

Jim wants to comfort the man, he really does. McCoy won’t want comfort, though, or pity. Instead, Kirk rubs a hand against the back of his neck and stares at an oil spot on his left tennis shoe.

“It makes no sense,” he says without warning.

McCoy doesn’t reply, doesn’t do anything but look like a man in mourning.

Jim tries again, a hint of fierceness coloring his words. “Bones, it makes no sense. Why would your divorce lawyer be here if it wasn’t important? I gotta tell you, man, Spock doesn’t seem the type to track you to Iowa just to say how sorry he is.”

The man snorts, some life returning to his eyes. “Spock's an idiot. He doesn’t know when to quit. We didn’t win, and he won’t let it go.”

“And you have?”

McCoy jerks to his feet, looking like he wants to punch Jim. “Don’t dare judge me like that, kid. I fought, damn you. _I fought for her._ ”

The words come rushing out before Jim can stop them. “Maybe you should have fought harder.” He blanches upon hearing himself, salvaging nothing with a regret-filled “Bones.”

He learns that Leonard McCoy has a temper. “Get out” is low and seething, said between clenched teeth. McCoy’s hard grip bites into Jim’s upper arm as he drags Jim to the door, wrenching it open, and shoves Jim outside. “Leave me alone,” the man tells Kirk, meaning it. The door is slammed shut.

Jim waits for a moment, listening to the rattle of the security chain being slid into place. Then he backs away from Room 26, wishing not for the first time that he had sense enough to think before he speaks.

~~~

It’s close to midnight when Jim tiptoes into the farmhouse. With a nearly inaudible sigh, he sheds his jacket and hangs it by the kitchen door, then removes his boots to carry upstairs, intent on not waking his mother. He is twenty-five years old and he feels like he is sneaking in past curfew. For Jim, the irony is almost hysterical.

Jim stops cold in hallway as someone calls softly, “Mr. Kirk.”

Looking up, he finds Mr. Spock silhouetted in a soft light at the top of the stairs. For a moment, Jim’s voice abandons him; but when Spock descends the stairs quietly, his brain restarts and Jim backs up until he is in the middle of the downstairs living room.

Like a ghost Spock follows him, his shadow stretching across the floor until Spock steps from the dark hallway and into the archway of the living room. Jim hastily flips on a lamp, needing to give Spock more of a solid presence.

“What?” he says, then feels immeasurably stupid as Spock simply pins him with a stare.

“Mr. Kirk,” the lawyer repeats, and Jim finds himself interrupting without meaning to.

“Jim. Not Mr. Kirk.”

Spock locks his hands behind his back, and Jim is glad he had the chance to see that they were empty before they were tucked out of sight.

“Jim,” begins Spock. “Was your evening a success?”

 _What?_ Jim almost echoes the word but manages not to. “Does it matter to you?” he asks instead.

“Yes, when Mr. Leonard McCoy is involved.”

Jim’s mouth goes dry. “I don’t—“

The lawyer raises a hand to forestall a lie. “I know of your acquaintance with Mr. McCoy. Mr. Rand, a deputy of the Sheriff’s department, I believe, informed me that you two were—“ Something flickers through Spock’s eyes and then is gone like a flame being tamped out. “—acquaintances. I must admit, I was surprised to learn that Leonard has a connection to Riverside, Iowa.”

Oh but how lies always come back to bite Jim in the ass.

Jim says nothing so Spock continues. “It has been my impression over the last month that Mr. McCoy’s trek across the states is spontaneous and unpatterned.” He considers Jim. “Perhaps I was mistaken.” Spock’s tone indicates that he doesn’t really believe this and that he is even less inclined to believe that Jim and McCoy are old buddies.

Jim slips his hands into his jean pockets. “I’ll ask again, Mr. Spock: Does it matter?”

Spock’s silence has an eerie quality.

Jim is determined to regain ground. “How I spend my time—or who I spend my time with—is really none of your business.” That’s ironic, too, that he is tossing McCoy’s words into Spock’s face.

“I find myself in a quandary, Mr. Kirk,” Spock says (and Jim almost winces that they are back to formalities). “I cannot approach Mr. McCoy without inciting McCoy's need to flee; nor can I leave Riverside until I have spoken with him. I require your assistance, Mr. Kirk, if I am to make progress.”

“Why?” he asks, wanting to understand Spock’s reasoning as much as McCoy’s reactions.

At Spock’s measured stare, Jim has a feeling he is being weighed, judged—and approved of. The lawyer explains calmly, “Leonard and I are involved in a personal matter which remains unresolved. It is my duty as a... colleague and friend to help him.”

Spock hesitates over “colleague” but not “friend.” Jim’s curiosity reaches an entirely unprecedented level.

He decides to promise what he can because he wants to help McCoy, too; his promise is also somewhat conditional—an unspoken condition Jim has no doubt Spock comprehends—because Jim is not completely convinced of Spock’s candor.

He tells the guy, “I agree that McCoy needs help. If I think you can help him, then I’ll help _you_.”

Spock nods curtly like he expected no less of Jim. “Then we are of an accord, Mr. Kirk" is the man's cool remark, and Spock merges back into the shadows of the hallway as silently as he had appeared from them.

Jim sits, spent, in a nearby chair for a long while, needing the time to recover—and to plan.


	4. Part Four

Jim slips into the back of The Diner early on a Tuesday morning, aware that Sulu keeps the kitchen door unlocked while checking inventory. The routine hasn't changed for years, not since Gary Mitchell left the position of head cook and the third-shift cook, Hikaru Sulu, advanced as Mitchell's replacement. (It was Mitchell who used to let a young Jim Kirk stay in the kitchen after school while his mother was waitressing; Jim remembers those days fondly.) To accommodate Sulu—who, it turns out, is excellent at both cooking and managing the kitchen—the owner of The Diner cut down the hours of operation so Sulu isn't overworked. The arrangement suits everyone.

When Jim steps into the main area of the kitchen, Sulu is briskly chopping vegetables with his back to Jim. Jim brushes fingertips against a rack of pots, rattling them to announce his presence.

Sulu doesn't turn around, only states, "I have a knife and I know how to use it."

Watching the efficient, almost elegant way that Sulu dices an onion, Jim has no doubt that the man isn't joking.

"Hey, it's just me." He circles the end of the kitchen island counter to lean against the double industrial sinks along the back wall. Jim crosses his ankles, hands in his jacket pockets.

Without a word or a glance, Sulu slides an extra cutting board in his direction then holds out five long stalks of celery. Jim wrinkles his nose (celery is his least favorite vegetable) but rinses them in a sink before grabbing a knife of his own. While he chops, tongue peeking out as he concentrates, Jim becomes aware that Sulu is watching him work.

"What?" Jim asks, thinking that he hasn't cut off a finger so he must be doing pretty good.

Sulu reaches over and picks up a piece of celery. "Too large." With a series of rapid movements with his knife, Sulu dissects one of Jim's whole celery stalks into miniscule, equal portions.

Jim stares at the cook's handiwork. "I thought it was going in a soup or something."

"It is," Sulu agrees.

"Then why does size matter if it cooks into mush anyway?"

Sulu stares until Jim starts to sweat. "Never mind," Jim says and tries to reproduce perfectly chopped celery for soup. He doesn't think he is too successful but Sulu has already moved onto dicing peeled potatoes.

They work in companionable silence until Jim hears the diner bell ring in the front. He wipes his hands on a towel and tells Sulu, "I'll be right back."

Sulu nods and continues to lay out ingredients for the soup of the day.

Jim finds, to his surprise, not his mother or Uhura or another waitress arriving to work. Instead, the Russian kid from the Star Motel stares at Jim from across the counter and greets him.

"Hello," Jim returns. "Can I help you?"

"I am here for work," the guy says and glances around, clearly looking for someone other than Jim to talk to.

"I thought you had a job." Jim frowns. "As a desk clerk."

"Yes, yes," Russian Blondie agrees, nodding. "I remember, you are the deliver boy." The kid finishes his sentence with a blush.

Jim takes pity on him. "Actually," he confesses, "I sort of lied. I just needed to know which room my friend was in."

"If he is your friend, why did you not know?"

He grins. "We weren't friends at that point."

"You do not work here?" The poor guy looks confused.

"Not officially. I'm just the fly on the wall, you know, the one that gets swatted at but keeps coming back," Jim says with good humor. "Are you going to quit the motel, or do you need a second job?"

He doesn't know if The Diner is hiring but he can ask Jose if they can find something for the youth to do.

"I need more work. Today I have off."

Jim frowns, assessing the Russian. "How old are you?"

"Twenty" is the instant reply.

"You're shittin' me!"

The kid's ( _or not a kid?_ muses Jim) face flushes again but he shakes his head vigorously. "I am almost twenty—in two months."

"So. Nineteen-going-on-twenty."

"Yes, Sir."

"And no college?"

"No, Sir." The guy looks slightly sad when he says that.

"Hey, it's not for everyone. I'm a dropout myself. Believe me, it was great for partying but the classes bored me to tears." Jim is not as ashamed of his wild days as some townpeople think he ought to be.

Jim notes that the kid debates with himself, obviously wanting to explain something, but seems to decide silence is safer. Perhaps it is, Jim thinks. Who knows what kind of situation the guy comes from? Maybe he doesn't have the money to go to college. ...Or maybe he doesn't have something more vital, like citizenship.

Jim sucks in a breath at that thought. "You're, ah," he tries to find a delicate way to phrase his question, "legal, right?" At the blank look Jim receives, he clarifies, "Not your age, I mean. Papers to work."

The guy lights up again. "Yes, Sir! I am a citizen of dis country. I vas born here, though my parents moved back to Russia when I was wery young. I am recently come to America again."

Jim sighs. "Please, no more _sir_. It makes me feel old. I haven't hit my thirties yet." He sticks out his hand and introduces himself. "Jim Kirk."

"Pavel Chekov," returns the Russian as they shake hands.

"Pavel, I don't know what I can tell you. I don't think this place is hiring—"

"But I asked before and a lady said to come in today. She said—"

Sulu leans through the kitchen window, interrupting. "You need work? I could use help back here."

Jim holds up his hands when Pavel looks at him, saying, "Hey, I'm just the fly."

Sulu calls, "Pavel, right?" The cook points to the swinging door that leads into the kitchen. "Through there."

When Pavel Chekov hesitantly walks around the counter toward the kitchen, Jim meets Sulu's eyes. "You should interview him first."

"Your mother already did, Jim," Sulu replies with a sharp look.

Sometimes Jim wonders if his mother isn't the boss of The Diner in all but paperwork. She has a lot of authority for a part-time waitress. Then again, the owner has known Winona Kirk for many decades—and been enamored with her for decades, too, even before he bought The Diner from her grandmother.

Lucky for Jim, Winona has never fancied herself as a Mrs. Robert Wesley.

~~~

Jim is under the Charger again when Jose kicks at his left foot, almost causing Jim to smack himself in the face with his tool in surprise.

"Hey!" he barks, not being able to maneuver well on his back. "Jose, don't _do_ that! I almost poked my eye out."

"Yeah, yeah," says his boss, unrepentant. "Get out here. You got a visitor, chico."

Wondering why they can't afford to buy a creeper so he doesn't have to take the skin off his back sliding along the concrete floor (in addition to dirtying his clothes in oil puddles), Jim manages to extricate himself without doing any real damage and rises, stretching cramped muscles.

A face rapidly becoming familiar peeks around the corner of the rolled-up garage door. Jim strides outside. "Pavel!"

"Yes, Sir—Jim!"

"What's the matter?" Kirk asks, eyes narrowed. "Did Sulu turn you out already?"

Sulu is notorious for running off kitchen help, though generally not by the second day of their employment. Which is why Jim stops by on the occasional morning to help the cook out, because Jim is one of the few people not intimidated by Sulu.

The young man is quick to assure him that Sulu did no such thing. In fact, Pavel goes so far as to say quite happily, "Hikaru is wery nice. Tomorrow I vill show him how to make good borscht. My mother vould use the potato—." Pavel breaks off, his eyes painfully sad, and Jim tucks away that puzzle piece.

Sulu accepting recipes for new dishes? Either the end of the world is nearer to hand than anyone realized, or Pavel has wooed The Diner's fearsome chef. Jim isn't certain which is more probable, which scares him.

"Why are you here, Pavel?" he asks gently.

"Oh, sorry." Chekov looks so sweetly sheepish that Jim instantly forgives him for being sidetracked. "I have a letter for you."

Jim takes a folded note held closed by a piece of scotch tape. He doesn't recognize the handwriting that spells _Jim_ across one side.

"It is from Mr. McCoy," Chekov tells him. "He came to the office, looking for a pen, and I—I told him I vould not always be in de office, that I had other work now and—" Pavel looks excited just talking about his new job. Jim imagines Pavel looked just as excited when he informed McCoy. Though why the guy is happy to have a second job is beyond Jim's comprehension.

"—and you mentioned the diner and Bones decided to make you a messenger boy." Jim smiles when Pavel nods. "Thanks, Pavel. Who told you I was here?"

"Nyota. She is nice too."

Is Jim the only one who thinks calling her Uhura is cool?

Jim pats the pocket of his overalls and frowns. "Hey, hold on."

He grabs his wallet from his duffle bag but Pavel backs away upon Jim's approach. "No, no. Dis—" Pavel says carefully through his accent, "This is... between friends. You helped me."

Jim eyes him shrewdly, observing the worn look of Pavel's tennis shoes and washed out colors of his clothes, even the jeans. Chekov's collarbone juts through his skin in a way that indicates Pavel could stand to gain a few pounds. "At least let me take you out for a—" _Shit, he's not twenty-one._ "—a meal. Just between friends, Pavel."

Pavel looks hesitant but Jim puts on his friendliest grin and tucks his wallet out of sight. "C'mon. I'll take you where pretty girls waitress in low tops."

"Nyota is pretty."

"And she's likely to stab a man's eye with a fork and call him a pig for appreciating her lovely attributes. Ask me to tell you that story sometime—but get me drunk first, okay?"

"Okay. Dis place, it is expensive?"

"Nope," Jim assures him. "So you won't be putting me out on street."

Pavel flinches, and Jim has to wonder at what point the young man has been, or has been close to, destitute. Not recently, he hopes.

"Look. A meal, all right? Doesn't have to be soon."

Cautiously, with a smile that reaches his eyes, Pavel nods _yes_. Jim waves goodbye, watching Pavel walk away for a minute, before he goes back into the garage. Ignoring Jose's curious glances, he closes himself in the washroom and pulls out McCoy's note.

_Jim,_

_I'm sorry I yelled at you. Since you haven't sicced Spock on me yet, I guess you think I'm redeemable. Lunch tomorrow?_

_Leonard_

Well, looks like his plan to weasel his way back into Room 26 with steaks and a side of mashed potatoes won't be necessary after all. Happier than he has been in a couple of days, Jim returns to working on the Charger. Jose remarks dryly at one point during the afternoon, as Jim hums a tune, "It's always good when a quarrel resolves itself, isn't it, kid?"

Jim breaks into a grin, picturing McCoy calling him 'kid' instead.

~~~

Spock, the nuisance, almost destroys Jim's lunch date with McCoy. How Spock even figured out that Jim was heading over to the Star Motel, he doesn't know. Maybe the diner take-out boxes gave it away. Or maybe Spock is a mind-reader.

At 11:35 am, Jim climbs into his mother's truck and is surprised when the passenger door opens. "What the hell are you doing?"

Mr. Spock blinks. "I require a ride."

Jim stares, incredulous. "And you think my truck is a taxi service?"

"I believe this is Ms. Kirk's vehicle."

Jim puts the truck back into park. "No, Spock." Then he mutters, "God, I thought you were sane."

"I am of sound mind, Mr. Kirk," explains the lawyer. "You plan to visit Mr. McCoy. I wish to speak with Mr. McCoy. To travel together is merely logical."

"Look, I said I'd help you _if_ I thought it was the right thing for Bones. I didn't say _when_ I would come to that conclusion but l can tell you—it's not today." Jim scoots across the cab of the truck and pulls the passenger door closed.

When he is on the driver's side again, he clips in his seatbelt, intending to take his foot off of the brake when a _tap, tap, tap_ on the driver-side window stops him. Jim rolls down the window.

Mr. Spock returns his stare, expressionless and eeriely calm.

 _How did Spock get around to the other side of the truck so fast?_ And, crap, his mother doesn't keep pepperspray in the glovebox.

"Spock," he begins.

"Jim," Spock interrupts, startling him. "I understand your reluctance to participate in my endeavor. I assure you, I intend no harm toward Leonard McCoy. I respect Mr. McCoy, both professionally and personally. He is experiencing... difficulty in his life, difficulty which I believe may be overcome."

Lawyers are supposed to be good at pleading their cases, and damn if Jim doesn't feel himself giving in. Spock's words seem earnest. Nevertheless, Jim knows he couldn't forgive himself if he engineered an intervention that drove McCoy away.

Latching onto the only part of Spock's plea that can be addressed without saying _just get in the truck_ , Jim quips, "While I wouldn't say being a Bible salesman isn't worth respect, McCoy does not seem to be very good at it. You know, good enough to make a living."

Spock looks at Jim for a long moment. "Leonard's father was a salesman until the age of 53," he tells Jim at last. "Leonard did not pursue a career such as David McCoy's."

Jim is stuck between covering his ears out of loyalty (because Bones should be the one to tell Jim he has been lying) and begging for more information from the need to know Leonard McCoy. Spock, it seems, has all the answers to the questions Bones won't let Jim ask.

Jim tightens his grip on the steering wheel and looks away from Spock. "McCoy is not a Bible salesman—okay, I kind of expected that. I still don't think I can let you in this truck, Spock."

"It is imperative that you do so."

"No it's not," he argues. "Can't you just... be patient? Bones will come around. I can bring him around, but you have to wait."

Instead of trying another tactic, Spock surprises him. "Why do you persist in referring to Mr. McCoy as Bones?"

With a half-smile, Jim steps off the brake. "That's who Mr. McCoy is in Riverside, Mr. Spock." He holds the lawyer's gaze. "He's my Bones." Then he advises firmly, "Try the rhubarb pie Mom bought. It's great with vanilla ice cream."

Kirk backs up the truck, not daring to glance at Spock again as he drives away.

~~~

When Jim is outside Room 26, McCoy opens the door before he can knock.

"I didn't know if you were gonna come back," Leonard tells him.

Kirk carefully places the plastic bag of take-out on the table inside the room. Then he turns to McCoy who stands next to him, coaxing open a box of food. Jim says "Bones" and when McCoy looks his way, Jim cups Leonard's jaw long enough to press a light kiss to the man's mouth.

He confesses, "I couldn't stay away."

"Then you're a fool. We both are," McCoy says and tugs Jim back to him, turning a light kiss into something more heated, bordering frantic. When they break apart, Jim's breathing is completely shot.

Leonard retreats two steps, swallowing hard. Jim never realized apprehensive could look so sexy until he saw an apprehensive McCoy. He has to force his gaze away from the man's frowning mouth.

"Jim, I have to tell you..."

Jim drops a hand to the top of a chair for support because his legs feel wobbly. "It's okay, Bones, whatever it is," he says hurriedly, thinking about Spock knowing all of Leonard's secrets and Jim knowing none of them.

McCoy shakes his head, a sharp jerk. "Maybe it's not."

On instinct, Jim stills. "Bones?"

Then Leonard blurts out "Spock's in love with me" and Jim thinks, _huh, maybe it isn't okay after all._


	5. Part Five

Leonard has Jim's full attention. Jim sits in the chair he had braced himself against, knees no longer shaky but Jim figuring if he sat he wouldn’t run away.

McCoy is already apologizing—whether for the bombshell of information or the kiss Jim doesn’t know, really, or care. He raises a hand to tell Leonard to stop talking, to let Jim think. A short silence later, and he tells the man, “I believe that you wouldn’t say that about Spock unless you were certain, Bones. You owe me the details.”

Now McCoy sits, too, on the edge of the bed. They are close but not close enough to touch, which might be for the best.

Jim absentmindedly presses his fingertips to his mouth when Bones begins the story. His lips are lightly swollen, not physically painful but now a painful reminder of how he always leaps without looking.

“Spock and I met in college. Roommates, believe it or not, for the first year at the University of Georgia.” McCoy’s eyes light briefly as he says, “You can imagine how well that went. Spock’s a neat freak; I’m messy. He had to have absolute quiet and my snoring drove him batshit, though he was too bottled up to say so. Hell, Jim, we fought like cats and dogs most of the time. The only thing we agreed on was the importance of studying and no girls in the room. Needless to say, Spock and I both transferred as far apart from each other as we possibly could.”

It’s just a story, but Jim can’t help feeling a pang that it is also a history he was never part of. His own days at Iowa State were brief; he never encountered anyone worth knowing there that he hadn’t already known.

“It wasn’t until senior year that we... re-connected, I guess, almost out-of-the-blue. We were both getting ready to take the preliminaries for graduate work. Jim, I can’t explain it but it’s like we suddenly realized we had things in common—and they mattered more than the things we didn’t. I’m not saying we never argued after that—damn but Spock can be an annoying little shit sometimes—but we didn’t drive each other crazy. In fact,” McCoy’s color rises, and Jim forces himself not to look away, “I think I was gettin' too dependent on him. He’s calm, you know? The calmest bastard ever. Ha, maybe ‘cause he ain’t Southern. Anyway, we studied together in cafes or coffee shops late at night. I—I found myself really liking him. It was unexpected.”

McCoy falls silent for some seconds before he picks up the story again. “He got into law school; I, into med school.” Jim says nothing at McCoy’s apologetic look, only tipping his head for Bones to continue. “I had had a few girlfriends on and off during college, experimented with guys too, but it never occurred to me why Spock did not talk about anybody that way. I figured he was... I don't know, above that stuff. I didn’t know when I left him that he regretted never telling me he thought we could be something good together. He did tell me, though—later.” Again, McCoy’s tan skin flushes at a memory. “Long story short, Jim, I met Jocelyn while I was at Mississippi. It was kinda crazy. I think I was riding a high, dreaming about being a doctor. No one’s ever been a doctor in my family—“

Leonard shakes his head, seemingly chastising himself for some sentiment. Jim does not mention that he knows Leonard’s father was a salesman—and that he suspects McCoy is carrying around his father’s briefcase of unsold Bibles.

“Jocelyn, she’s my wife—ex, shit—was as clueless as me. Neither of us realized how long and tiring building my career would be, not just through med school but through residency. We married too young, Jim,” he tells Kirk earnestly. “And God help me for saying this, we had Joanna too young, too.”

McCoy sighs. “I’ll spare you the gory details. Joce was lonely since I was always working, and I was too tired to give her the attention she deserved. So she slept with an old friend who came into town. I can’t say I blame her now but I was mad, and we split. Marriage went down the crapper from there,” McCoy says almost wryly.

“How does Spock fit into this?” Jim wants to know.

“I made a bad decision” are McCoy’s gruff words. “I hunted him down because I was desperate. Joce threatened to take Joanna for good and I wasn't thinking straight. I thought... if anyone could help me keep my daughter, Spock could. Fuck but that was the biggest fucking mistake _ever_.”

Jim flinches, not knowing why but suddenly sympathizing with Spock. “He came when you asked him to.” It doesn't need to be a question.

Leonard slumps over, elbows on his knees. “He did. I know it’s not his fault but... Are you sure you want to hear the rest of this, kid?”

“Yes.”

“Jocelyn knew I liked men as much as women,” Jim is told flatly. “I never hid that from her. Well, the divorce proceedings weren’t as quick as they should have been; Spock argued over every detail, saying I earned my share. It pissed her off. And I don’t know how, but in the few times Jocelyn met Spock, she saw how he looked at me. At least, that’s what she told the judge.”

 _Oh shit_ , Jim thinks. He braces himself, as McCoy is doing.

“She wanted to hurt me, so she used Spock to do it. Maybe she thought she could steer attention away from her indiscretion by deflecting it onto me." Leonard's eyes are dark. "I don’t know how things work in your part of the country, kid, but where I am from, a man can do what he wants if he’s discreet about it. If he isn’t... I’m so damned ashamed of people sometimes, you know?”

Jim agrees “I know” without elaborating.

“So I got dragged through the mud, Spock did too—she told everybody we were _sleeping together_. We lost credibility and,” McCoy finishes, “I lost Joanna. Can’t have a _queer_ raising a little girl.”

“Bones,” Jim warns low and tight, hands flexing, “if you say that again, I will hit you.”

“I would let you, if I ever meant it.”

For a moment, they are quiet. Then Jim feels that the need for movement so he rises and paces to the door and back. It’s a pitifully short distance but moving helps. “Let me tell you what I think happened after that, Bones,” he says.

Jim doesn’t wait for McCoy to reply. “Spock—a straightforward guy, right?—wouldn’t lie if you accused him of ruining your case.”

Now McCoy flinches. Jim pauses for a second, not sure if he is comforted by the fact that he accurately guessed the aftermath between Spock and McCoy once the custody case was lost. McCoy would be devastated but angry, too. Jim wonders briefly how Spock must have felt.

He continues. “Spock admitted his feelings. Did you punch him?”

“No. I called him a damn fool, though. Told him he compromised the case by accepting it when he knew he was a liability.” Leonard rakes a hand through his hair. “Which I shouldn’t have done. Joce would have probably pulled the same trick with any lawyer I had.”

Jim silently agrees. “So why did you run, Bones?”

“Jim...”

“Why?” he asks, implacable.

McCoy won’t look at him. “You didn’t see the way people looked at me. I couldn’t—she took my possessions and my daughter but I still should have had _something_ left. It was my hometown, Jim. My friends, my family—those who pretended I didn’t exist... You don’t understand. And Spock wouldn’t let it go. He was just making things worse.”

Jim sinks beside McCoy on the bed. “You think there aren’t assholes in this town who want to beat the crap out of me because I sleep with men, Bones? Don’t be stupid. I’ve had my share of shit too. People suck.” He touches the man’s shoulder. “But there are some good people here, my mom being one of them. They stand by me, and I stand by them.” Sliding his fingers down McCoy’s arm, he takes the man’s hand and squeezes it. “If you stay in Riverside, you won’t regret it.” Jim grins half-heartedly, adding, “We could use a good doctor.”

McCoy does not smile back, merely searches Jim’s face. Then he sighs and asks tiredly, “What about Spock?”

“I don’t know. Not yet.” And he doesn’t, not at all, but Jim can’t tell Bones that he now desperately wants to speak with Spock, if only to gage whether the lawyer is an ally or an enemy.

He also cannot predict what may happen with Bones’ daughter—only that McCoy should not be apart from her for the rest of his life.

Jim Kirk won’t allow it.

He stays with Bones until after they have polished off the crumbles from the take-out boxes. Stepping out into the sunshine and basking in the warmth of it, Jim says, "You should come to the diner."

McCoy remains in the doorway, still shrouded in the dim light of the motel room. "I can't."

"You can," Jim tells him firmly. "You will. You need to meet my family."

Leonard does not argue because Jim does not give Leonard the chance to do so. He strides to his truck with a confidence his mother says makes him none other than James T. Kirk, extraordinaire: " _It's part of why people are drawn to you, Jimmy, and why they trust you to help them._ "

He is confident he can help Bones.


	6. Part Six

“What the _hell_ is the matter with you!?”

McCoy stabs a finger dangerously close to Jim’s eyeball. Jim tries to calm the building storm that is McCoy in a rage. “Bones...”

“No!” Jim catches Leonard’s arm when the man spins away to stomp down the sidewalk in glorious fury.

“Bones, c’mon—just come inside for a minute.”

McCoy bares his teeth. “You’re God-damned nuisance, do you know that, Jim?”

Jim makes soothing noises as he tugs the stubborn Leonard through the front door of the Riverside Medical Clinic. “It’ll be fine, Bones. You said you’re a doctor...”

“What I said was in _confidence_ , you monkey brain. I quit that career. I—"

“Jim!” A woman’s voice interrupts their argument. A young blonde, shoulder-length hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, waves at the pair of men from behind the reception desk. Jim doesn’t dare let go of Leonard’s arm and propels them toward her, calling out, “Hey there, Chapel.”

He grins and indicates McCoy with his thumb. “This sour face is McCoy.”

Christine Chapel, nurse practitioner of Riverside Medical Clinic, looks McCoy over. “So this is the real McCoy. Jim says you have great credentials.”

“Jim is the equivalent of a snake-charmer. Look... Chapel? I don’t know what this fool told you but I’m not a doctor.”

“I’m Christine Chapel.” She holds out her hand to McCoy, unperturbed by his words. Jim watches with no small amount of satisfaction as Leonard grimaces at being cornered and shakes her hand.

Jim says, “Is Mark around?”

Chapel smiles. “I reminded him about the interview this morning. If you will have a seat, Dr. McCoy, I’ll call you when Dr. Piper has a moment to talk.”

Leonard sputters. “Interview? _Damn it, Jim,_ we were going to the diner. You _said_ —“

“And we will,” Jim tells him, "right after you talk to Mark. The man needs a helping hand around here. He’s ancient, Bones. He was my mom's doctor when she was a kid.”

Leonard falls into the seat next to Jim, sulking. Jim ignores him and watches as Christine helps an elderly man to his feet and leads him down the hallway to an examination room.

“They’re always short-staffed,” Jim comments, knowing Bones is listening despite the man’s closed eyes and frowning mouth. “The nearest hospital is thirty miles south of Riverside. I won’t say we get a lot of freak accidents—“ He doesn’t mention that he used to be a regular clinic patient. “—but there are still the occasional emergencies. I know you were probably working your way into some fancy practice, Bones, but you can still help people—except with a cut in salary.”

“Jim, you’re not getting it.”

He turns and looks at McCoy. “You need the money. You can do the work. What else is there?” He adds, “I can’t afford to keep you up.”

Leonard takes his joke seriously. “I am not asking you to, Jim.”

“No, but whatever cash you have won’t last forever.”

“Jim, I am not going to work here. It’s not that simple. A doctor has to have experience and references. He is an investment, not solely for the clinic or hospital hiring him but for every patient he tends.”

Jim sighs. “Did you finish your residency?”

“Yes.”

“What about where you worked last?”

Now McCoy’s jaw tightens. “I don’t want to think about them, let alone _ask_ anything of them.”

Kirk wants to throw up his hands, he really does. “Don’t be ridiculous! You worked there, bisexual or not—“

“ _Jim_!” hisses McCoy.

He stubbornly continues. “—and if you were half as good as I think you probably are, they can’t deny that.”

“Sure they can.”

“Well, if they are decent people, they won’t. Besides, you have test scores and certifications and a degree. That counts.”

“Kid, just... no, okay?” McCoy begins to rise but Jim reaches over and pins one of the man’s arms to the chair. McCoy growls.

Jim wonders if Bones would actually attempt to bite him in public but is saved from finding out when a nurse scurries toward them.

Jim relaxes and beams at Janice. “Did Christine herd Mark into his office already?”

“Nope. But he said he’ll see Dr. McCoy in Exam Room 3.”

Jim says, “Fair enough” and points McCoy in the right direction. “Go on, Bones.”

When McCoy rises but stands in place, looking mutinous, Jim pulls out his big guns. “It’s either this or having a heart-to-heart with Spockie-poo,” he says cheerfully.

McCoy’s hand gesture is crude as Jan kindly leads the doctor away.

Jim leans into his seat, not at all surprised when Janice returns quickly. She looks at him, nervously running a hand down the length of her hip. “It’s good to see you, Jim,” she says.

“And you, Jan. How’s Kevin?”

Her arms go lax, dropping to her sides, and her mouth quirks almost ruefully. “You always know how to kill a girl’s dream, don’t you?”

“You’re married,” he says pointedly. “Flirting with me is fine but you know I am not a homewrecker.”

“That’s not what my dad thinks.”

“Your old man is an asshole.” Jim regrets those words the moment they come out of his mouth. “Shit, I didn’t mean that.”

Janice just shakes her head. “Yes you did, Jim.”

He grimaces. “Can we pretend I didn’t, though?”

“All right,” she agrees. “I need to check on Ms. Humphreys anyway.” But Janice hesitates as she steps back.

Jim tries to ignore the warning in his gut.

“Jimmy,” she asks, “how come it never worked out between us?”

They had been Senior Prom King and Queen. Their school friends expected them to work out; hell, the whole town had expected that they would stay together, marry, and have kids. Jim, however, couldn’t take that kind of pressure, not when he was certain he didn’t know what he wanted for himself. Jan’s father breathing down his neck hadn’t helped either; it had made him run away all the faster.

He can’t say _you weren’t what I was looking for_. For all her faults, Janice Rand—now Mrs. Janice Riley—is a good person. Instead he says, “You deserve better than me, Jan. Trust me on that.”

Her expression says that she trusted him before—with her heart—and that didn’t turn out well at all. Jim knows there is nothing he can do but apologize. Like always, “I’m sorry” makes her retreat, eyes pained. Jim wishes he could fix their estrangement but he can’t. He is just a machine mechanic and no more.

Bones is gone longer than Jim anticipates. In fact, at the forty-five minute mark Jim has finished reading all the children’s Highlight magazines and is at a sufficient height of paranoia from being watched intently by a five year-old picking his nose. Said five year-old climbs to his feet and begins wobbling toward Jim with an ominous look. Jim jumps up to his feet, prepared to bolt to Dr. Piper’s office to hide, when a savior swoops in from the street.

With a heartfelt “Uhura!” Jim hastily drapes his arm around her shoulder and gives her a desperate look.

Uhura narrows her eyes as she pulls her scarf from her neck. “Why are you here?”

“Me? No reason!” Jim widens his eyes. “What about you? Why are _you_ here?”

She shrugs out from under his arm and strides to the reception desk. Jim glances over his shoulder at the toddler (who returns the stare, back to picking his nose) and hastily follows Uhura. Not a minute later, Christine appears in regular clothes—a pair of jeans and a brightly colored blouse—and they greet one another before turning to stare at Jim, the interloper.

He feels like he ought to raise his hands peremptorily in surrender. Then Uhura rolls her eyes and leans against the reception desk. “Chris,” she begins enthusiastically, “wait until I tell you about Pavel.”

Christine is scribbling a few notes on a pad by the phone. “Isn’t Pavel the new kitchen boy? Please don’t tell me Hikaru has run him off already!”

“Oh, not at all. I think Hikaru _likes_ him,” Uhura says, and the women catch each other’s eyes and grin.

Jim sidles closer, trying to unobtrusively be party to the gossip fest. Uhura pokes his stomach with her elbow without turning around. “Don’t breathe on my neck, Kirk,” she warns him.

He mumbles an apology before asking curiously, “What about Pavel?”

Chapel says, “Jim always finds out eventually. Tell us, Nyota.” Christine is more generous-hearted than Uhura, Jim decides.

“First, Pavel lives at the Star.”

Jim nods, though he didn’t really know that. It makes sense, though.

Uhura glances around the waiting area of the clinic, which only has a handful of people. “Why don’t we go?” Her voice drops to a hushed quality. “I can tell you both at lunch.”

Jim shakes his head. “I’m waiting on Bones.”

Uhura’s eyebrows rise. He grins.

“I’ll tell you about Bones if you tell me about Pavel.”

Her look is shrewd. “Deal. So, like I was saying, Pavel is at the Star but apparently he’s not _alone_. Hikaru dropped him off after closing one night, and he swore he saw a girl waving from a motel window at Pavel. She was young, not even a teenager, he said.”

Uhura has both Christine’s and Jim’s attention now. “A sister?” asks Christine.

“Maybe,” Nyota replies. “I told you that Hikaru has been giving Pavel a free meal at the end of his shift. He’s so skinny, Chris, like you wouldn’t believe! Well, if Pavel has a family, I think we ought to double the portions. I told Hikaru that. He agreed.” She nods, satisfied.

Someone says from over Jim’s shoulder, startling him, “She looks about eight.”

“Bones!” Jim lights up, turning, but at McCoy’s unreadable expression he decides not to ask how the interview went—not yet, anyway.

Uhura looks at McCoy. “Hi there, handsome!”

McCoy lifts an eyebrow.

Nyota extends her hand. “Please skip the ma’am this time, Leonard, and call me Nyota.”

McCoy smiles and kisses the back of her hand with a gleam in his eyes. Jim pretends not to care—which is probably exactly why McCoy did it, to discomfort him. “With pleasure, Nyota,” drawls the Southerner.

Nyota's eyes also gleam. Then she gets back to real business. “You’ve seen the little girl?”

“Sure have,” says McCoy. “When I went to the motel office, she was in there playing. Looks like the Russian kid, too.”

“What about parents?” Christine muses.

Leonard shakes his head. “They keep to themselves if they exist.”

“So Pavel has a sister and they live in a motel,” Jim summarizes. “And they could be alone.”

“Poor Pavel!” Chapel and Uhura chorus.

“I live in a motel,” McCoy interjects, looking like he doesn’t understand why motel life is sad.

“We already know you’re a lost cause, Bones,” Jim says slyly. “Pavel might not be so stubborn.”

McCoy glares at him.

Uhura interrupts their moment of man-bonding with “Your turn, Jim. Why is Leonard at the clinic?”

Leonard says, “Hello, I’m right here.”

“Bones is a doctor!” Jim practically crows with delight.

Nyota Uhura is surprised, turning to look at McCoy with wide eyes. “Wow, really? Though I didn’t think he had the right attitude for a devout man.”

“Yep,” says Jim. “He got his pre-med degree at Georgia and then finished his MD in Mississippi.”

“Amen! Please tell me he wants to work, Jim,” Nyota almost demands.

“I'm standing _right_ here!” McCoy tries to interrupt.

“I hope so,” Jim says. “We need him. Don’t you think so, Christine?”

Chapels adds her two cents. “Of course. I did some research on McCoy when you said Dr. Piper should look him over.” She whistles to emphasize that her findings were impressive.

“ _HEY!_ ”

Jim, Christine, and Nyota look at McCoy.

“Didn’t your mommas tell you it ain’t polite to discuss a man’s private business right in front of him?” gripes Leonard McCoy.

“My mother raised me just fine, Dr. McCoy,” Nyota says hotly, planting her hands on her hips.

Leonard isn’t reckless. He backpedals. “Of course, Nyota. I wasn’t insulting anyone’s mother.”

Jim feels stupidly happy. He must be grinning like a silly idiot, too, because Nyota and Christine look from him to McCoy and back before suddenly remembering they have lunch plans. McCoy waves a little when he tells them goodbye, blinking in confusion, as the two women practically drag each other out of the clinic giggling.

Jim rounds on Leonard. “You’re in, right?”

“Huh?”

“Bones! The interview!” Jim’s patience is limited.

McCoy rolls his eyes, saying, “There was no interview, Jim—"

Jim swallows, stomach dropping.

“—at least, not a traditional one. Do you know what was in Exam Room 3? _A patient_.”

Jim shifts on his feet, waiting for McCoy to give him the details.

McCoy’s look is knowing but the man isn’t cruel. McCoy continues, “The guy looked at me and just started babbling on about his ailments—and let me tell you, they were _many_. I tried to explain that I wasn’t a practicing doctor and that he had made a mistake. Then he called me ‘Dr. McCoy’ and said he knew who I was and how long did I plan to dawdle while his insides fell apart?”

Jim thinks back to Christine escorting an elderly man down the hallway—infamous Mr. Reeves, the town harbinger of doom and lifetime hypochondriac—and stuffs a fist into his mouth.

McCoy shrugs. “So I looked him over.”

“Did you pronounce him healthy?”

“Do I look like a fool?” McCoy retorts. “A man like that would rather have bad news than good news. I told him to lay off the sugar unless he wanted to be shooting up insulin like a junkie, and _then_ I said his gout was a permanent affliction and he’d better invest in a decent cane.”

Jim is simultaneously horrified and thrilled.

“That's when your Dr. Piper came strolling in and listened patiently to a report on my horrible bedside manner.”

“What happened then?”

Now McCoy looks uncertain. “He said ‘Follow Dr. McCoy’s advice and come back in three weeks.’” Leonard crosses his arms. “Damned craziest thing, if you ask me.”

“I wouldn’t call my actions crazy,” says a voice behind them.

Jim is already smiling as he turns. “Mark!”

Dr. Mark Piper, a round man with a head of white hair and a kind face, accepts Jim’s hug good-naturedly. “Nice to see you, Jimmy—and without a trail of blood following you, too. How refreshing!”

Jim looks sheepish. Then he asks, impatient, “Does Bones get the job?”

Piper places a firm hand on Jim’s shoulder. “We’ll discuss it in my office.”

The three of them enter a room with a small desk, an old leather chair behind it and two plain chairs in front. The back wall of the room is entirely lined with filing cabinets. Piper sits down, the chair squeaking with age, and sighs mightily, no doubt glad to be off his feet.

“We have five minutes,” Piper tells Kirk and McCoy, “before my next patient gets antsy and aggravates Janice.”

McCoy says, by way of a conversation opener, “You don’t need to bring me into the practice.”

Jim immediately disagrees. Piper tells them both to shut up and listen.

Then he levels a stare at McCoy. “Why do you assume this opportunity is about whether you could use the work or not, Dr. McCoy?” he asks. “Have you considered that we may need you desperately, even if you don’t need us?”

That seems to give Leonard pause. “No, Sir.”

“Then I suggest you quit wasting time complaining about Jim’s tactics—I can tell you now Jimmy’s always been devious—and think about whom this proposition benefits, us as well as yourself. Riverside is a small community. People here cannot always afford health care but that certainly doesn’t preclude them from needing it. Now, I have several good nurses to help me—that I won’t deny. My last practice partner, though, didn’t last more than a year before he decided he needed the excitement and prestige of a multi-million dollar hospital.”

“I’ve worked in both settings, Sir,” Leonard says.

“I know.” Piper adjusts his eyeglasses and reads aloud from a list. McCoy stills, listening, and Jim realizes that Mark is reciting Bones' work history and... research papers? Jim was right: Leonard McCoy is a smart man and an even smarter doctor.

“Frankly, you are overqualified to work in my clinic,” Piper concludes. “On the other hand, I doubt that you have fully experienced life itself, Dr. McCoy. I have, however, and I can assure you that Riverside is as good a place as any to gain that experience.”

Jim is bursting to agree with Dr. Piper but he is aware that his silence will be less likely to hinder McCoy’s decision at this stage. So he says nothing.

“Are you sure you want me?” asks Leonard.

“Why not? I’m an old man. I would retire, except that I love my work and I love my town—but I’m no fool. I need a pair of fresh eyes and a sharp mind.” Piper taps a finger against his mouth, considering McCoy. “I also like that you aren’t a young upstart like Jim. I would have had Chapel scare you away if that had been the case.”

Leonard’s bark of laughter surprises Kirk.

Piper’s smile is small but satisfied. “Can I bring you in, Dr. McCoy? For a trial run, perhaps?”

Jim holds his breath until he hears Leonard's reply: “Okay. A trial run—but only because I’m bored and Jim won’t bother me as much if I’m working.”

Chuckling darkly, Dr. Piper says to Dr. McCoy, “Unfortunately for you, I must now enact the first order of business.” Piper points at Jim, saying to Leonard, “You will be his primary physician.”

“ _What?_ ” McCoy balks, sounding choked.

Jim has the good grace to blush.

“I’m too old to be chasing after the boy.” Piper rises and ambles over to a filing cabinet, rifles through a drawer, and then dumps a large manila folder in front of McCoy. It is bound together with multiple straining rubber bands and yet notes are still spilling out of it.

Mark Piper quips, “I name you Keeper of the Kirk File. My condolences.”

McCoy stares at the bulging folder for a long moment. When he finally turns to Jim, his expression is a cross between peeved and intrigued. “Something you need to tell me, kid?”

Jim looks innocent. “Nooo. I’m healthy. Honest.”

“He’s the devil’s own mischief-maker,” Piper accuses.

“Was,” Jim corrects. “I _was_ Satan’s particular brand of torment for health care providers.” Jim grins. “I’m retired now.”

Piper’s dark mutter is low enough that Jim can pretend he doesn’t hear it.

But apparently McCoy does. The man rakes a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair, frowning. McCoy asks Piper again, “Are you sure you want me?”

“Yes I am,” responds the old man. “You can start on Wednesday morning—7:30, please. Christine will introduce you to the staff and show you around.” Piper eases himself back into the old leather chair. “Welcome to Riverside Medical, Dr. McCoy.”

Bones doesn’t seem excited but that’s all right because Jim is excited enough for the both of them. He tells Dr. Piper, “Thanks, Mark! We appreciate this.”

Piper merely nods. “Go on, Jim, get out of my office. And stay out of trouble! I suspect McCoy won’t be as gentle and accepting of your foolishness as I have been. Keep your head on straight, my boy.”

Jim salutes sloppily with “Yes, Sir” and leads McCoy out of the clinic, triumphant at this small but important victory. McCoy has a job.

“Jim.”

McCoy is _his_ doctor. Lady Luck is smiling upon Jim Kirk today.

“Jim!”

“Yes, Bones?”

“I swear to God,” the man grumbles, “if you start skipping, I’m going to push you into oncoming traffic.”

“But then you’ll have to put me back together because I’m your patient,” Jim says with a flutter of his lashes.

McCoy calls him something unseemly and harsh but Jim just laughs. “Don’t worry, Bones, everything is okay now—"

It is Leonard’s sharp intake of breath and subsequent jerk on Jim’s arm that alarms Kirk enough to shut up. Before he can wonder at the sudden change of atmosphere, McCoy hisses “Spock” and drags Jim back against him, like Jim can hide McCoy in the middle of the sidewalk in broad daylight.

And _oh shit_ , there is Spock across the street, standing opposite them. Staring at them.

Once again Jim is frozen by that dark, almost penetrating gaze, feeling his heart pound in his chest. Then he comes back to himself with the realization that he needs to protect McCoy; McCoy is going to break into a run at any second and may not stop until he is well beyond Riverside, Iowa.

Jim latches onto McCoy’s hand hard, ignoring Leonard’s grunt of surprise and pain. Setting a fast pace, Jim rushes them down the sidewalk. There aren’t many alleys to get lost in, but there are some and Jim knows them all. He can—

As if Lady Luck is inexplicably overtaken by a Plague of Bad Luck, Jim finds himself pulling up short when Deputy Rand blocks his path as they turn a street corner. McCoy bumps into Jim from behind at the unexpected stop in their mad dash. Jim automatically shifts to shield McCoy.

“Kirk,” greets Rand.

“Sorry, Deputy,” Jim says, skipping past the niceties. “Bo—Leonard and I are in a hurry.”

When Jim tries to move past him, Rand blocks their way again, this time placing a warning hand on the holstered gun at his hip. Jim tenses.

Slowly, Rand looks them both over until his gaze stops at their linked hands.

And that, Jim knows, is all it takes to turn this man into a mean son-of-a-bitch.

“So,” Rand says in equal slowness, like he is testing the words, “McCoy’s a special friend, is he, Kirk?”

Jim squeezes Leonard’s hand, willing the man at his back to be silent and let Jim handle Rand.

“Who he is to me is none of your business and you know it,” Jim states flatly. “We’re not bothering anyone. Let us pass.”

Old anger surfaces in Rand’s eyes. “I don’t know what my girl sees in you—what she wants with a _faggot_.”

Anger burns in Jim, too, and he is long used to it, though more recently new to not letting it overtake him. A few years ago and he would have lunged for Rand, fists swinging. That only ever landed him in worse shape than he was usually in.

Rand is the law; Jim isn't.

Jim chokes on the bone in his throat. “We’re walking away, Frank,” he says as evenly as he can. “C’mon, Bones.”

The deputy shoves him back, sending Jim into McCoy who cries out, “You goddamn bastard!”

Jim finds his balance again and starts forward, furious, but catches himself. That does not, however, stop Rand from drawing his weapon and barking, “Face down on the ground, Kirk!”

Fuck fuck fuck. Jim hasn’t done anything but that never matters. He twitches and Bones is saying in his ear, “Shit, kid, let’s just go. _Shit_.”

“I said now!” Frank snaps, and Jim snaps back, “No!”

He has a second to wonder if Bones is good at patching bullet wounds when Rand levels his gun at Jim’s chest. Then a remarkably cool voice interrupts, “Might I inquire why you are threatening these individuals?”

Jim locks his knees upon hearing Spock. He can’t see McCoy’s reaction but he hears Leonard’s panicked breathing falter.

Rand tells Spock, “Stay back. Kirk, get on the ground.”

Spock actually does the opposite; he walks forward into Jim’s peripheral field of vision. “You must prove that you have reasonable suspicion to draw your weapon, Deputy,” the lawyer remarks.

Rand straightens and looks at Spock. “You don’t have authority—“

“I am Mr. Kirk’s and Mr. McCoy’s attorney. I am within my rights—and I suspect you are not within yours.” Spock’s voice is cold now. Jim shivers.

“Kirk has a weapon,” Rand improvises.

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Indeed.” The lawyer turns to Kirk. “Are you in possession of a weapon at this time, Jim?”

Jim, who had thankfully left his jacket at home today, shakes his head. He nudges McCoy back with his foot and when Leonard gives him room, Jim slowly lifts his hands and turns in a circle so that it is obvious no weapon is tucked into his belt.

“Satisfied?” Jim asks Rand in a clipped tone.

Glancing at Spock, the deputy finally steps back and re-holsters his weapon.

Spock turns to Kirk and inquires, “Do either of you wish to press charges against this man?”

“The hell they can!” Frank Rand argues.

Before Jim can say _I just want to get Bones out of here_ or _lock the fucking asshole up and throw away the key_ , Spock tells Rand, “You were harassing my client. As I was witness to your uncivilized behavior—and derogatory comments,” Spock adds, voice still frightfully cold, “I will testify on Mr. Kirk’s behalf.”

Rand’s nostrils flare. “I have a right to freedom of speech.”

“While this is not an untrue statement, speech combined with the intention to harm or defame character is _not_ a right. It is a crime, Mr. Rand.”

“How can you be on his side?” the deputy spits. “Do you even know what that boy is—what _they_ are!” Rand gestures at McCoy, too.

“I am acutely aware,” Mr. Spock says too softly, “for their nature is my own.”

Rand stares at Spock for a long minute before his face twists into ugliness. Yet he does not call any of them what he is clearly labeling them in his head, not in light of Spock’s imperturbable countenance and diamond-sharp eyes.

Rand turns his angry, disgusted look on Jim and says snidely, “Be seeing you, Kirk.” Then he pivots and strides away.

McCoy sags into Jim and twists a fistful of Jim’s shirt in one hand. Jim closes his eyes briefly, only to open them again and find Spock watching him and McCoy both.

“Are you well?” is the lawyer’s gentle question.

“Yeah,” Jim says. “Thanks, Spock—really. I can’t thank you enough.” Even if Rand’s vendetta has grown immeasurably from being denied a spiteful act.

“I recommend that you do not travel alone, Jim,” Spock warns him.

“Yeah, I know.” And he’s not alone, he is with Bones—

Crap.

“Bones?” Jim clears his throat to get his voice back under control. “Are you—?”

“What, Jim?” asks a pinched voice. “Still standing, fucking pissed, terrified? I’m all of those things right now.”

As if on cue, “Leonard...”

Jim winces, waiting for Bones to do something drastic when Spock calls his name.

McCoy, surprisingly, only says, “I owe you thanks, too, Spock. I would have just landed us both in jail.”

Perhaps Spock is surprised by Leonard’s thank you also. “I was merely executing a reminder to Deputy Rand. An enforcer of the law must be attentive to how he behaves, as the justice system requires that he be an exemplary model of lawful—“

“Why can’t you just say, ‘you are welcome’ like a normal person, Spock?” Annoyed McCoy is back.

The lawyer tilts his head like he is studying McCoy. “You are welcome,” Spock parrots.

The hand in Jim’s shirt twitches. Jim decides an intervention is necessary. “I’ve had enough excitement for today, gentlemen.” He hesitates, then says, “Spock, I don’t think this is the best time..."

McCoy releases Jim to circle around him. Staring at McCoy who is now staring at Spock (who stares back at Bones, and why is no one paying attention to Jim?), Jim wets his bottom lip. “Guys?”

Leonard folds his arms. “Jim and I are going to the diner,” the man says like a challenge. “I’ve got nothing else to say to you right now, Spock, so let me alone.”

“When will you be prepared to engage in conversation?” the lawyer wants to know.

“Never.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Fine. Wednesday—but not until I’m off work.”

Is Spock never disconcerted? “This is acceptable. I propose that we convene at the Kirk residence for privacy.”

McCoy purses his lips in thought for a brief second. “Okay,” he drawls. “But Jim is my sounding board. If both he and I don’t like what you have to say, no more talks.”

Jim stands very still under the lawyer’s scrutiny. Spock agrees again. “Then I bid you an uneventful remainder of the day, Mr. McCoy.” Spock tips his head to Jim. “You also, Mr. Kirk.”

And like that, Spock gets a foot in the proverbial door, McCoy is on speaking terms with his arch nemesis, and Jim has no clue _what the hell just happened_.

Later, as he passes his mother in the hallway on the way to bed and she asks “How was your day, dear?” he answers truthfully with “One I doubt I will ever forget.”


	7. Part Seven

Jim wakes with a start, heart pounding. Then he carefully peruses the calendar's days on a far wall until he is convinced that today is Tuesday. In the shower he says repeatedly, “It’s only Tuesday.” His mother greets him in the kitchen and he asks her, undeniably antsy, “Is it Wednesday?”

Winona frowns at him. “It’s Tuesday.” Perhaps hearing something extra in his relieved “Oh, okay… Tuesday’s are great!” she asks, “What happens tomorrow, Jimmy?”

He could tell her nothing but she would know he was lying anyway and stare at him until he breaks down and tells her. Besides, this is her house and she should be aware that her house may be the scene of a possible explosion.

“Bones is coming over tomorrow,” Jim remarks somewhat carelessly (intended to be careless, that is) as he reaches for a plate in a kitchen cabinet.

Apparently Winona understands a lot better than Jim thinks she does. “Is that wise, Jim?”

He fumbles as he pulls out a fork from the silverware drawer. “Probably not but Bones seems ready to talk to Spock.”

“Oh.” She stands aside while he spears two pancakes and dumps them on his plate. “I might be at work. What time...? Uh-uh, Jimmy, hand me that!”

He gives her the maple syrup bottle, bemused, and watches as she delegates a pitiful amount for his pancakes.

His mother tells him, “You’re not a young boy anymore, dear. You need to watch your waistline.”

Jim panics for a split second and wonders if he might have overlooked love-handles in the mirror this morning.

“And too much sugar is terrible for your pancreas. Why, I was talking with Bob yesterday at the diner about diabetes and—"

Jim tugs at his plate, which Winona has in a vice grip, and whimpers just a little. “Mom, my pancakes…”

“Promise me you’ll take care not to end up with diabetes!”

Jim grins lopsidedly, “No can do, ma’am!”

“I try to be a good mother,” Winona complains with a mother’s aggravated sigh and releases his plate.

He kisses her cheek before taking his breakfast to the kitchen table. “You _are_ a good mother.” Jim feels her eyes on him, watching him with affection, as he eats.

By the time he has put away five pancakes (sneakily hiding extra syrup between the layers), Jim is surprised that Spock is not downstairs as usual. When he mentions the oddity, Winona calls from the hallway, “Oh he left very early this morning.”

Jim shrugs into his jacket by the back door, wondering not for the first time exactly what it is Spock does to entertain himself in Riverside.

~~~

Jim stops by his apartment on his way to work and, stepping through the front door, almost sees it through a stranger’s eyes. Clothes discarded haphazardly across the floor; beer bottles lining the counter dividing the kitchen from the living room; an old brown sofa which Galia claimed is an eyesore—his place is a mess and an extremely unsightly one at that. Jim spends the next ten minutes tossing trash into a garbage bag (wincing when he finds a three week-old partially eaten hamburger) and successfully dumps all his clothes in one big pile to be sorted as follows: _clean_ , _not-clean-but-not-dirty_ , or _rank_. Satisfied, he locks the apartment door and whistles a tune as he heads to Jose’s.

~~~

Jim purposefully avoids McCoy all day.

There is plenty of work to be done at the garage, and he stops by a small roadside dairy bar for a quick hotdog and fries at lunchtime before returning to work. Jose seems pleased that Jim is not distracted and works alongside him. Jim’s back aches by sunset but he feels accomplished and not as tense as he had upon waking up that morning.

And, while tuning a car, he had given some thought to a few things. Jose, being the only other person around, had been party to Jim’s musings:

“Hey, Jose…”

“Don’t drop that bolt into the engine, _chico_.”

Jim obediently placed the bolt next to the other spare parts spread out on a towel. “Jose, tell me what you think.”

“I don’t think.”

“Smartass.”

“And you’re lazier than a fat dog. But who’s keeping track?” They made fun of each other regularly; it was their bonding ritual.

Jim’s crude gesture was his only reply.

Jose snorted and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“My apartment is a two-bedroom. Do you think Bones...?”

Jose stopped arranging his wrenches to stare at Jim. “You want the guy to move in with you. _Eres loco!_ How long have you known him? Not a month!”

“Whoa, Jose, I already have a mother. I’m not talking about _moving in together_ moving in,“ Jim said. “More like motel living is shitty and now that Bones has a job he can afford to pay half of my apartment rent.”

“Jim,” Jose began carefully, “maybe he would like his own place, _si?_ ”

Jim considered this possibility. “Nah. He’d mope too much if he was by himself. I’ll ask him about it.” That decided, Jim returned to work. Jose had simply shaken his head, knowing Jim Kirk’s tenacity and subsequently pitying McCoy.

Now that a full day’s work is done, Jim has the option of loitering downtown or finding dinner. Kirks generally fend for themselves, with breakfast (when he stays at the farmhouse) and Sunday lunches being the exception. The growl of Jim’s stomach makes him lean toward finding dinner. He points his bike in the direction of The Diner.

Tuesday nights are slow. The only regular customer inside the establishment is Scotty perched on a stool. Winona is not working tonight, nor Uhura.

How sad that Jim will have to play nice with tonight’s waitress. She is a gorgeous woman named Marlena Moreau; a waitress by day and a stripper by night. Riverside’s two rival clubs, the Trophy Club and Rick’s, are both popular. Marlena is a recent newcomer to the Trophy Club and Jim, upon hearing her assets lauded by Jose, had stopped by the Trophy Club to watch her performance. He enjoyed the show like every other man who appreciates the curves of the female body, but Marlena didn’t seem more interesting than a woman with incredible flexibility (and Jim has known his share of those kinds of girls). He wasn’t moved, not even by lust or loneliness, to approach her.

When she took up a part-time position at The Diner, Jim was tremendously glad he had not. Marlena is a lot less nice than she looks.

Of course, that does not stop Marlena from approaching _him_ at the diner counter, her hips swinging and a wicked, red-lipsticked smile stretching her mouth.

“Can I get some of the stew?” he asks without making eye contact.

“Mr. Kirk, you can have whatever you want.” Marlena’s meaning is obvious as she flashes her chest at Jim while slowly sliding a menu his way. “Are you sure you don’t want to see if there’s something else that’ll... _please you_ , hon?”

He slides the menu right back. “Just Sulu’s stew and a Coke, thanks.”

Marlena turns away, radiating disappointment and irritation.

Jim sighs at his crossed arms.

“ _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned._ ”

The words are muttered so low that Jim almost doesn’t hear them. He turns his head and stares at Montgomery Scott.

“How's it going, Scotty?”

The man hunches over his tall glass of coca cola. “Been better.”

“Anything I can do?” Jim asks gently.

Scotty shakes his head. “Me drink’s free. Don’t need nothin’ else.”

Jim disagrees but not out loud. “You know,” he begins, changing the subject, “when I was at Riverside High, I remember there being a picture of you in the display case.”

Scotty stirs, speaking with a new quality to his voice. “State science fair. I won.”

“Yup,” Jim beams. “What was your project? I heard it blew the other contestants straight outta the water!”

“Transparent aluminum,” Scotty says with pride. “It’d be stronger and lighter than plexiglass. Theoretically, of course...” The man is blushing beneath his three-day old beard. "Pop worked for Riley Construction. Got me idea, rememberin' when he showed me around the warehouse when I was naught but a wee lad."

“That’s brilliant, Scotty,” Jim says and means it. “The prize was scholarship money for college, right? Man, you could go to an Ivy League school!”

Suddenly the man slumps again. “Don’t matter no more. Ma got sick ‘n I couldn’t leave. My scholarship... it’s long gone.”

“How do you know that?”

Scotty shrugs. “Just do.”

Jim argues, “But you never used it!”

“I never will,” Scotty says and downs the rest of his soda before sliding off his stool, effectively ending their brief conversation.

Jim calls to his retreating back, “Hey, Scotty, I’m sorry!” but Montgomery ignores him, tucks his hands into an old long-coat, and walks out of the diner.

“Shit,” mutters Kirk. He is frowning at the counter top when someone shoves a bowl of stew under his nose.

“Jim!” beams Pavel.

“Hey, Pavel,” Jim says, unwrapping a spoon from inside a paper napkin. “How are things with you?”

“Good, good,” says the kitchen boy with enthusiasm. Chekov glances, wide-eyed, at Marlena across the diner and leans in to whisper, “Hikaru told me to bring you the food. He doesn’t like that waitress.”

Jim chuckles. “If Sulu says she’s no good, then she isn’t.”

“Oh.”

Jim pats Scotty’s vacated stool. “Sit and keep me company while I eat.”

“But I am working...”

“Sulu will call you if he needs you,” persuades Kirk, and Jim watches the young man circle the end of the counter to sit down. Chekov looks healthier, happier.

Jim recalls Uhura’s story and drops his eyes back to his bowl. He savors the next few bites then asks, “How did you end up in Riverside, Pavel?”

Chekov, who had been folding Jim's discarded napkin into an odd shape, stills his hands and glances at Kirk through his lashes. “I had no more bus fare.”

Or no more money, period?

“You were traveling alone? That can be pretty scary. I’ve done it myself,” he adds, hoping to draw more information from Pavel.

“Oh no,” Jim is told earnestly, “it vas not scary at all. I had traveled wery far already.”

Jim swallows his mouthful and turns to stare at Pavel. “You mean, like from the coast? Or out of the country?”

“From Russia.”

 _Holy crap._ Jim returns to eating, only pausing to drain half his Coke. After a while, Pavel fills up the silence with talk of kitchen work and some gossip which he had picked up from Nyota (mostly things Jim already knows).

Finished eating, Jim slides his empty bowl away and says too casually, “I haven’t forgotten about the meal I owe you.”

Pavel shakes his head, saying, “No, no. You do not—“

Jim coughs. “How about Friday?” He hesitates only for a second before jumping completely into the fire. “The offer extends to your little sister, too.” Pavel goes white and Jim immediately recognizes that he shouldn’t have said anything. “Hey, it’s okay, Pavel.”

Pavel backs away from him, almost running into Marlena who snaps, “Watch it, brat!”

“Pavel!” Jim springs after him and catches Chekov’s arm before the young man can bolt into the kitchen. He whispers quietly, sincerely, “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just... This is a small town, Pavel. People are bound to notice what you don’t want them to.”

“Please don’t tell,” Pavel begins to beg.

“No, of course not. I won’t tell anybody,” Jim assures him. “I just thought she’s got to be bored, right, being cooped up all day? We can go to McDonald’s, let her do something normal.”

Pavel is so pale with fright that Jim wonders why there are no parents with the Chekov kids. Jim can’t think of anything pleasant that would prompt a nineteen year-old to tote his baby sister halfway across the world.

Jim lets him go, saying, “Just think about it, Pavel.” Then he adds, “Whatever it is, I’m on your side.”

Chekov looks at him for a moment longer before Sulu’s sharp “Pavel!” has the guy flying into the kitchen and out of Jim’s reach.

Only an hour in the diner, Kirk has already upset two people. He leaves enough money to cover the bill and tip, and exits the diner feeling unsettled and somewhat unhappy.

Maybe Jim should have pestered Bones today after all.

~~~

When Winona Kirk sets her mind to something, she won’t be budged.

Jim tries, anyway. “You can’t be serious! The last thing Bones will want is to sit through dinner conversation with Spock.”

“No, Jim,” says his mother as she unloads a bag of groceries. “I’ve already bought the pot roast. I think Mr. McCoy will enjoy pot roast. Though, Mr. Spock is a vegetarian... I saw this recipe for a rice and lentil dish in a Red magazine, so I cut it out. He’ll like it, I’m certain!”

Jim groans and bangs his head on the kitchen table.

“Stop that,” says Winona primly without turning from her task. “The _last thing_ Mr. McCoy will want is to treat you for a head injury on his first day at the clinic.”

“Mooom...”

“Jimmmmy,” she retorts. “We will all have dinner together like civilized people. Then Mr. McCoy and Mr. Spock can discuss their business. Please tell your friend to arrive at 7 o'clock.”

He leaves the farmhouse in a sulk, knowing that if he doesn’t do her bidding, he will pay for it later. The drive to the clinic is not long enough. Though once Jim pockets his motorcycle keys, steps into Riverside Medical, and immediately spies Bones arguing with someone, he feels more cheerful.

Hanging in the background, he waits for a moment to see if Bones will spot him. When McCoy does look his way, it’s with a roll of his eyes and a sharp “Unless you need medical attention, get out of here, Jim!”

Jim grins and rocks back on his heels, clearly content where he is.

Then Dr. McCoy fixes his annoyed look back to the man dangling a coat in his left hand. Belatedly, Jim realizes the man is Mr. Wesley.

Technically _Mayor_ Wesley but Jim knew the man before he was running the town, and Bob doesn’t insist on the formality—not from Winona or her son.

Shit, how can Bones be yelling at the Mayor of Riverside already? This might be the shortest career of McCoy’s yet. Jim has no intention of allowing Bones to kill a good opportunity.

He intercedes, butting aside McCoy as he steps in the middle of the argument, with a cheerful “Bob!”

Robert Wesley doesn’t look angry, thank God. “How are you, Jim?”

“Good. Mom, too.” He tries to pretend he isn’t on anyone’s side. “Today is Doctor McCoy’s first day.”

Behind him, Bones mutters, “Oh, for God’s sake, Jim.”

There is an amused glint in Bob’s eyes. “So I heard. I’m just here for a check-up—for my diabetes and all.”

“Mom said something about that.”

“It’s not his diabetes that he ought to be worrying about,” Leonard inputs, and Jim can tell the man is about to renew his efforts to get fired.

“Easy, Bones. Bob has always been a healthy guy.”

“Who’s the licensed doctor here, kid? When a _doctor_ advises a man, that man would be a fool not to listen!”

“Dr. McCoy, I appreciate your concern. I’ll come back when Mark can see me and then, if he thinks...”

“An EKG is not risky. However _not_ knowing, after what I heard going on in your chest, is absolutely fatal,” explains McCoy. “I’m sure we can get you an appointment—Chapel!” bellows the doctor. “Chapel, where’s that blasted phone listing for the hospital that you showed me?”

“The timing is inconvenient, Doctor. I promise you, when the election is over...”

Leonard McCoy makes the sound of a tea kettle about to boil over. “Imagine the _inconvenience_ while you’re in the middle of kissing some housewife’s baby and go into cardiac arrest. You know what would be even _more_ inconvenient for your re-election? _Death!_ ”

The stare-down between the doctor and the mayor has Jim sweating. Chapel interrupts with a booklet in hand.

“Here you are, Dr. McCoy,” she says, shooting a look at Jim that says _get out of the line of fire, stupid_.

McCoy takes the booklet and flips through it. Robert Wesley uses that moment to back away, donning his coat. Bones yells after the mayor, who scurries out the clinic door, “I know where you live!”

Then he purses his lips, nonplussed, and says to Jim, “I have no idea where he lives.”

“Biggest house in the county,” Jim supplies. “Is Mr. Wesley really that bad off?”

“I can’t discuss that, Jim, but I will say if he was smart, he would listen to me.”

“I’m sure,” soothes Kirk, meanwhile thinking he ought to mention to his mother that Bones is worried about Bob’s heart. “Hey, guess what?”

“What?” replies McCoy, still looking grumpy.

“Mom’s making dinner for us.”

McCoy’s face changes, softening, and he says, “She doesn’t have to do that.”

“Oh but she wants to, believe me. I tried to talk her out of it.”

Leonard scratches his cheek, wanting to know, “What’s she making?”

“Pot roast.”

“I haven’t had a good pot roast in a long time.” Then Leonard tugs at his bottom lip. “Does she know Spock doesn’t eat meat?”

“Yeah. He gets some kind of rice specialty or something.” Jim shrugs.

McCoy _hmph_ s. “I suppose for pot roast I can be nice to Spock for the course of one meal.”

“Either that or ignore him.”

Leonard gives Jim a strange look. “It’s hard to ignore Spock when he’s in the same room.”

Jim thinks about that for a short minute then agrees. Spock does, quite undeniably, have presence.

“It’s a quarter until five. Why’d you wait so late to tell me about dinner? Afraid I’d back out?”

“No,” Jim says sincerely. “Mom sprung it on me too. She’s like that.”

“Really now,” says McCoy, no doubt completely oblivious to the strange similarities between Jim and Winona Kirk— _people of 'springing' surprises_.

Or not, Jim decides as Leonard mutters about Jim’s inherited behavior.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Dinner isn’t until 7, Bones.”

“And lucky for you,” quips McCoy, “I don’t take two hours to get dressed. In fact...” The man looks down at his clothes. “I guess I don’t have much to change into. Pity. I’d put on my coattails for your mama. She’s a pretty lady.”

Jim has a bright idea and grins. Leonard automatically frowns and takes two steps back.

“I know exactly where we’re going.” Gesturing at the waiting area, he says to McCoy, “I’ll be here while you pack up.”

“ _Pack up_ ,” grumbles the doctor, wandering back down the hallway. “ _Like we’re going on vacation. Idiot._ ”

Jim flirts with Chapel while Bones is gone. Dr. Piper walks into the clinic, strangely unconcerned at having left McCoy to handle the clinic’s business for the day. Jim and Mark greet one another in passing. Once Chapel has changed her clothes and gathered her purse, Jim walks her out to her car like a gentleman and returns to the waiting room to find Leonard and Mark finishing up a conversation.

He catches the word “arrhythmia” in conjunction with Bob’s name and it makes his blood run cold. Would Mr. Wesley’s really ignore Bones’ advice? What would happen to this town if it lost the best mayor it has had in a long time? Not to mention that the Wesley estate includes ownership of The Diner and at least part-ownership in several other small franchises in Riverside.

“Jim.” McCoy calling his name prompts Jim to put aside his worries.

“You ready, Bones?”

Leonard grimaces. “I could just catch the bus...”

“The bus doesn’t run out into the countryside.”

Resigned to another wild ride on Jim’s bike, Leonard lets Jim lead them outside.

Jim, of course, in keeping with his bright idea drives them to Appletree Apartments and parks outside Building D. Leonard follows him up a set of stairs, uncertain but game.

Once in his apartment, Jim is doubly glad that he had had the foresight to do some cleaning yesterday.

“Good Lord!” exclaims Jim’s companion.

“It’s not that bad,” he argues.

McCoy nudges the pile of laundry in the middle of the foyer. “This ain’t the cleanest place I’ve ever been, Jim. My mama would have a conniption fit if she stepped foot in here.”

Kirk tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter. “This is my place.”

“I thought you lived with your mother.”

Jim shoots him a look. “Bones, I’m twenty-five.”

“That means nothing.”

“It means I can fend for myself.”

“Which doesn’t _mean_ you are independent.”

“Why are we arguing about this?”

“Beats me. It’s better than asking when was the last time you dusted.”

“Are you _serious?_ ”

McCoy laughs. “No.” After clearing a spot on Jim’s couch, Leonard sits down, crosses his legs and asks, “Are we here to kill time?”

“In one respective, yes,” answers Jim. “Mostly I wanted you to see my place.” Jim shifts, slightly nervous.

McCoy picks up on his mood. “Spit it out.”

“What?”

“Spit out whatever genius idea you’ve come up with this time.”

“Really, Bones, you know how to flatter a guy.”

“It’s a talent,” McCoy tells him without a single hint of humor.

Jim sighs. “I want you to live here.”

The silence is deafening.

“It’s not like this—always,” Jim tries to assure the man. “I just haven’t been here in a while.” _Since you came to town, actually._ No need to say that. “Now that you have a job...”

“No, Jim.” McCoy’s voice is quiet, too quiet. Leonard’s relaxed posture has transformed into a tense coil.

Jim continues on doggedly. “You can’t stay at the Star forever. It’s not safe. You need a better place, and I can offer that.”

That stirs Leonard. “I can find a place on my own, Jim.”

“I know you can but I’m saying you don’t have to.”

“I don’t really want a... roommate.”

The way Bones pauses makes Jim think he had originally intended to say something else. Jim finds it difficult to swallow all of a sudden.

Perhaps Leonard takes pity on James Kirk. “You’ve helped me more than I can say, Jim. Hell, with the food and the clothes and the job—"

And the companionship? Why doesn’t Bones say that?

“—I’m surprised you don’t just hand me your life and say ‘live it.’”

“It’s not like that,” Jim says.

“Sure it is. What I can’t figure out about you—my true concern—is your motive. What is it you want from me in return—and why do you think you’re going to get it?”

Jim’s fingers form into a fist, just for a moment, before he remembers that he doesn’t want to hit Bones. But, shit, those words hurt. “You just don’t understand,” he says tightly. “I’m not a good guy only when I want something. I—I’m a _decent_ person, you jackass. I help you because you won’t help yourself—because you’re an _idiot_ who won’t help himself and it _burns me_ to see that.”

He does not move; in particular, he does not pace like he normally does when angry. Nor does McCoy do anything other than stare at him.

“Just so we have an understanding, Bones, what you think about me is fine. But if you accuse my mother tonight of cooking you and Spock a dinner for reasons other than kindness... we’re done. You can take your self-pity and your ungrateful butt straight back to Georgia.”

And somehow that was what Leonard needed to hear. The next thing Jim knows Bones is off the couch and in his face, saying roughly, “You had me at 'jackass'” and kisses the daylights out of Jim.

He almost jerks back in surprise but soon relaxes enough to enjoy the kiss. Breaking apart at last, Jim lets out a laugh of surprise. “Okay, usually when I call someone on their shit, I get punched. I have to say, Bones, I like your method better.”

Leonard retreats, face deliciously flushed and eyes dark. Jim likes watching McCoy compose himself.

Then Bones grabs two dishes off the nearest surface and heads to the kitchen. He calls out to Jim, “We have an hour and a half. Get to work.”

“Huh?”

“Cleaning, Jim.”

Jim looks around the apartment, uncomprehending. “I already cleaned.”

McCoy smirks at him from behind the counter. “And apparently you suck at it. I don’t, so I’ll coach you.”

Jim’s daydreams of making out are completely dashed when McCoy points out several places for Jim to start “reducing squalor.”

They make his apartment livable in under eighty minutes, just in time for McCoy to oversee Jim washing his hands properly (“I’m not a baby, Bones”) and for Jim to rummage through his closet and entice McCoy into a dress shirt for dinner.

~~~

The evening meal goes well. Winona is inquisitive without being overly nosy; Jim has three helpings of mashed potatoes (he loves his mother’s mashed potatoes simply for the reason that _she_ makes them); and Spock compliments Ms. Kirk on her cooking skills while Leonard promises to share some of his grandmother’s recipes. An hour of the night is for enjoying company and good food; it is a quiet, unanimous agreement that no potentially unpleasant topics—past or present—will be discussed at the dinner table.

Jim is sad to see it end. He had actually managed to hold a conversation with Spock (not about McCoy, as that was strictly against the rules) for more than three minutes.

Now Jim and Spock are relinquished—that is, ordered by Winona—to the living room to await McCoy. Lucky Leonard is asked to help with the cleanup in the kitchen, which the man readily accepts, scurrying away, Jim suspects, to postpone the confrontation with Spock.

Jim and Spock sit the same couch in awkward silence while listening to voices drift in from the kitchen. McCoy’s voice is low, like a rumble, and Jim hears his mother’s peel of laughter every once and a while. Leonard and Winona seem to like each other a great deal; this makes Jim pleased, partly jealous, and nervous.

Unfortunately, Spock’s presence is not as calming as Leonard had once claimed it could be; if anything, it makes Jim tenser.

Without warning, Spock starts talking. “Your mother is providing Leonard with extra time in which to renew his courage.”

This is said so matter-of-factly that Jim turns to stare at the lawyer. “Yeah?”

“Indeed.” Spock’s tone says he approves heartily of Winona Kirk’s intentions.

“Aren’t you the least bit anxious?”

Spock looks directly at him, allowing Jim to see that he is, in fact, not anxious or remotely worried at all.

Jim marvels. “Do you expect things to go your way, then?”

“To which things do you refer, Mr. Kirk?”

“Convincing Bones to go back to Georgia, for one. I don’t know.” But he does: _Getting Bones to love you back._

Spock knows it, too. “I wish to determine what is right for Leonard.”

This guy ought to be a politician, Jim thinks. “What if... making Leonard happy won’t make you happy?”

Spock returns his gaze straight-ahead, no longer looking at Jim. “Leonard was happy in Mississippi,” Spock tells Jim.

Jim has a burst of insight: seeing not just the straight line of Spock’s back but how _unrelentingly_ straight it is; hearing more in those words than Spock willingly inflects.

“It must have been hard for you,” Jim says softly. “Letting him go—not holding him back though you wanted to.”

“Emotions are subjective. Fleeting,” clarifies Spock. “I pursued my law degree and I was successful.”

Spock does not say that he was happy. _Yet all those years and you still thought of Leonard McCoy—and felt regret,_ Jim says silently. Aloud, “Love is not fleeting.”

“Perhaps not,” agrees the lawyer.

And there it is, the big white elephant in the room. Jim sees it so clearly now. Spock loves Leonard, and Spock thinks Jim may be falling in love with Leonard.

Even while consciously trying to lead a proper, uncomplicated life, Jim winds up neck deep in trouble.

As if reading his thoughts, Spock turns the conversation in an entirely different direction—one which shocks Jim: “You have a reputation of recklessness and irresponsible behavior, Mr. Kirk; yet I have found no evidence to support these allegations other than an arrest record consisting mainly of misdemeanors, the last of which was committed six years ago.”

Jim can only manage an “Excuse me?”

Spock ignores his astonishment. “From the individuals I have spoken with in Riverside and at the University of Iowa—“

Jim gapes. Spock went to his college? _His college?_

“—most of them recall your antics with humor and admiration,” Spock’s tone indicates he does not know why chugging half a keg of beer is anything other than stupidly dangerous. “In particular there was a professor of philosophy who remembered you as... ‘an amusing sensationalist of existentialism’ and admitted his surprise that you left the university.”

Jim remembers that professor; he had taken one of the man’s classes out of curiosity and enjoyed it—despite that his attendance was erratic. Only once-a-week philosophical debates over coffee and bagels (courtesy of errant student Kirk) with the professor had earned him a passing grade.

Spock continues, “Your entrance exam scores were remarkably exceptional. I do not understand why you returned to Riverside before the completion of your degree.” He says all of this without looking at Jim.

“That’s... wow. What do you want me to say? Thanks for snooping in my life?”

“I wish for you to answer one question, Jim: Why did you return to Riverside?”

Jim squirms, uncomfortable with Spock’s persistence but also uncomfortable at the memories Spock is dredging to the surface.

He runs a hand over his face. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Spock,” he hedges.

Spock does look at him now. “If Leonard is to remain in Riverside, you do,” Spock tells him simply.

Backed into a corner, Jim drops his hands to his kneecaps and squeezes. “Fine. First semester of my third year, I got a girl pregnant.”

When Spock says nothing, just stares at him with that intense gaze, Jim adds, “At least, I thought I did. She said I did. It freaked me out—and it’s not that I wouldn’t have owned up to my responsibility to Carol and our baby, because I would have—I couldn’t _not_ have—but it made me realize that... the way I lived was no good.” He tightens his jaw and looks Spock directly in the eyes. “No kid should have a father who gets so wasted he can’t remember where he was the night before—or who he was with. No kid should have a father who is as much of a kid as his child. I had to do better. When Carol came clean that I wasn’t the father, I had my second chance, and I took it.”

“Why return to Riverside?” asks Spock.

Jim shrugs. “This is where I began, Spock. If I couldn’t come back here and start my new life, get people who have always known me to see that I was starting over, doing better—to _change_ their view of me, then I wouldn’t have stuck it through.” He tries to smile but the pull of his mouth is feeble, wobbly. “I think I won, don’t you?”

“I think you are... intriguing,” says Spock.

His laughter is short but not unkind. “Thank you. You are not what I expected either, Mr. Spock.”

Maybe Jim imagines it but the corner of Spock’s mouth twitches in a not-smile. “Then it is my hope, Mr. Kirk, that we continue to surprise one another.”

“Who’s surprising whom?” asks McCoy as he enters the living room.

“Everybody, Bones,” remarks Kirk. “It’s always a circus on the farm.”

Leonard replies dryly, “I don’t think you realize how apt that description is, Jim.” Then McCoy clears his throat and takes a peeking glance at Spock. “I suppose you want to go first.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “If you do not covet the honor, Leonard.”

Jim would love to witness a contest for the driest humor—he isn’t sure who would win, Bones or Spock. Since mentioning that idea would likely get him kicked out of the living room, Jim raises a hand and waves it like a know-it-all child in a classroom.

Leonard crosses his arms and says, “Jim.”

“How about I mediate?”

“I thought that’s why I asked you to come.”

“Bones,” Jim responds with a roll of his eyes, “you didn’t _ask_ me to do anything. You volunteered me. Now I’m volunteering to be a referee, you know, before fists fly.”

“Spock wouldn’t hit me,” Leonard says indignantly, jumping to Spock’s defense surprisingly quickly.

“Violence will solve none of our issues,” states the lawyer.

Jim leans back into the couch. “Agreed, but someone is going to get upset or pissed off or defensive. Hey, it might be me. Regardless, my mother will have all our hides if we don’t resolve this conversation to her standards—and, trust me, her standards are much higher than most people’s.”

“I like your momma,” Leonard points out.

“So do I,” replies Kirk. “But I would rather not get tossed out into the field tomorrow morning for manual labor.”

Leonard stares at him.

Jim adds, “You make her mad, she’ll pick you up in her truck tomorrow, too, before the birds start singing and you’ll be working right alongside me. Same goes for Spock.”

“Damn,” drawls the Southerner. “She sounds like my granny. Never did see a male of any age she didn’t think was too old for a whippin’ with a switch if he pushed her just right.”

Jim nods. “So. Can we agree to talk this through—or take our punishments like men?”

“ _But since we belong to the day, let us be self-controlled, putting on faith and love as a breastplate, and the hope of salvation as a helmet,_ ” McCoy quotes.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jim glances at Spock and receives a nod from the silent lawyer. He makes a gesture for Leonard to pull up a chair. Once McCoy is seated and facing Jim and Spock, Jim announces, “Spock, you have the floor.”

Spock says quite calmly to Leonard, “I am aware that you believe you cannot be a part of Joanna’s life. After much consideration of the matter, I propose a plan of action.”

Leonard interrupts, “We were booted out of family court, Spock! I don’t think there’s a law on Earth that—"

“Leonard, you should not assume the action will be lawful.”

Jim sucks in a breath, barely registering Bones’ noise of surprise.

Okay… Okay, okay, okay. This conversation is not at all what he expects.

It's not emotionally devastating; it’s _criminal_.


	8. Part Eight

It is nearing midnight and Jim lies on the couch with a pillow over his face. McCoy is asleep upstairs in Jim’s bed; Spock has retired to the guest bedroom that the lawyer is renting at the Kirk farmhouse. The living room is dark and quiet, except for the faint glare of moonlight peeking between drawn curtains.

Sighing and tossing the pillow away, Kirk sits up.

There will be no sleep for him tonight.

Soundlessly, he pads barefoot down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the backdoor. Rejecting the steps, Jim wanders down a stone path that leads to his mother’s garden. He climbs over the fence separating the garden from an untamed field beyond and settles on the ground just on the opposite side, leaning against a fence post. Eyes having adjusted to the dark, Jim watches the gentle sway of tall grass, waves of it stretching so far into the distant that it could be endless. Close by, a long thin shadow twines between stalks rising from the ground at the edge of the field; a snake, hunting in the cool night for a meal.

Jim’s eyes close, and he drops his head back against the post, enjoying the breeze on his skin. Time falls away, seemingly lost in the serenity of the witching hour. In that moment he wants for nothing, nor is troubled by anyone or anything.

After a while, Jim becomes aware of the rustle of fabric, of someone’s approach. He doesn’t open his eyes, not even when a thin blanket settles around his shoulders. There is a new smell now, in the blanket and scenting the skin of the hand that brushes his golden hair from his forehead—familiar and warm. Jim feels like a young boy again.

Winona whispers fondly, “You can’t sleep out here, Jimmy.”

This is their routine.

“Okay,” he promises, “but just one more minute, Mom.”

Like always, she spreads a second blanket on the ground beside him and sits down, tugging her robe and nightgown over her knees. Jim automatically scoots toward her, and she lets him lean on her shoulder, saying, “My Jimmy boy.”

He’s never too old to be cuddled in her eyes.

“Is it anything I can help you with?” she asks, knowing that he only comes to this spot when he is unsettled or upset.

On instinct Jim almost says _no_ but he thinks for some seconds and decides, “Maybe.”

“Then tell me,” Winona encourages her son.

He does.

~~~

_“...you should not assume the action will be lawful.”_

Considering McCoy’s dropped jaw, Bones is as surprised as Jim to hear Spock say those words. Unlike Jim, however, Leonard has years of familiarity with Spock to exclaim, “Are you out of your mind!?” The man sputters for a moment longer, then springs from his chair and backs away from both Jim and Spock. “No!” says McCoy vehemently. “Spock—just _no_.”

Spock raises his eyebrows, mostly unperturbed. “I have not explained the plan yet, Leonard.”

“And you had better not!” retorts McCoy. “God help me, I knew you were off-the-wall sometimes, but I didn’t know you were _insane_. The last thing Joanna needs is a father in federal prison.” Leonard grabs at his hair, wide-eyed, and tugs as if the mere thought of going to jail scares the shit out of him.

Jim finds his voice at last. “Let’s... everybody, let’s just calm down, okay?” He turns to Spock. “I’m with Bones on this. If you’re going to suggest something l-like kidnapping...”

Leonard whimpers and pales when Jim gives voice to the word ‘kidnapping.'

Jim grimaces. “That’s a bad idea, Spock.”

For a silent moment, Spock simply blinks. Then slowly his gaze moves from Jim to Leonard and his back goes rigid. His voice is surprisingly cold when he says, “You both indulge in overactive imaginations. I could—could _not_ be party, let alone instigator, to the kidnapping of Joanna McCoy. The notion itself is absurd, Mr. McCoy, Mr. Kirk. Joanna is a child and Leonard’s former wife is not unsuitable as a mother; to force Joanna into a hostage situation, kept from one of her parents, is not only unwise but also cruel.”

A tension loosens in Jim, and he almost slumps with relief. Leonard hesitantly sits back down, clearing his throat and saying to Spock, “I, uh, I’m sorry. It’s just that what you said implied committing a crime and...”

Spock’s countenance seems to soften at Bones’ apology. “I understand how you might have interpreted my insinuation, Leonard. You must forgive me for not being entirely forthright.”

“Forgiven,” says McCoy quietly. “Now tell me what you meant. I promise I’ll listen before I jump out of my skin again.”

“What I wish to suggest would be considered illegal in certain scenarios—but not as I intend us to employ its use, not in the truest sense. Yet while it might not be unlawful, you may still believe the action to be morally reprehensible.” Spock pauses, and Jim and McCoy both unconsciously lean in to hear the rest. “Your vie for joint custody of Joanna was denied on the basis that you could not provide a stable household.”

“Which is bullshit!” Jim breaks in angrily. “The judge was probably a homophobe.”

Spock neither agrees nor disagrees with Jim; McCoy’s expression says plainly _yeah, the judge was a SOB all right._

Spock continues, “We must create a stable household before we can re-petition the court. Because joint custody is more feasible as a goal than a starting point, given the latest verdict, we will ask for visitation rights to your daughter.”

“I’m not getting how any of this is likely to make my grandmamma roll over in her grave, Spock,” McCoy remarks with a small frown.

Now Spock hesitates, glancing at Jim out of the corner of his eye. “Leonard,” begins the lawyer, “in order to convince the court that you are equal to their standards—"

Jim’s stomach drops.

“—you will have a greater chance of success if you are married.”

Jim has no say, and Bones, it seems, has no words for Spock’s gentle suggestion.

“I understand, of course, that you would find it difficult to remarry for emotional reasons. I recommend that we select a suitable candidate based on her willingness to...” Spock falls silent for a couple of seconds. When he picks his sentence back up, he speaks as though he hadn’t had a lapse. “...assist with your situation and that of your daughter’s. She will need to be convincing yet subtle in her affections for you and also of irrefutable good character.”

Leonard has the look of a man trying to disappear into his chair. His color is back, undeniably so, but Jim can see that Bones is finding this entire conversation to be unpleasant.

“Bones...” Jim tries to make his voice soothing but it comes out as pathetically sympathetic.

“Spock,” McCoy says, voice strained, “I know you’re tryin’ to be helpful but I don’t think I can—I can get married again.” Leonard is looking at his left hand as he speaks.

“It would be a business arrangement,” Mr. Spock tells him. “Nothing more. I could draw up a prenuptial agreement that protects you financially but other stipulations, such as intimacy, must be in verbal agreement only—and done so privately. I cannot protect you in that regard.”

Jim swallows the lump in his throat so that he can agree with Spock. “The idea might actually work. Bones, if we find the right girl, she’d be a great stepmom. Even if, you know, you two weren’t...”

Oh fuck but this is hard. Jim clamps his mouth shut against the rest of that thought. Bones gets married and that makes someone like Jim—what? The mistress?

Jim wants to smack himself. He and Bones aren’t even _involved_ , other than one or two delectable kisses, and Jim is already trying to figure out how he would fit into this scenario.

“I can’t,” insists McCoy.

“You could,” clarifies Jim, sounding as strained as Leonard, “but you don’t want to.” He catches Leonard’s eyes. “I guess the question is: what are you willing to do to be a part of Joanna’s life?”

A low blow like that is certainly unfair, and Jim sees a flash of anger—maybe hate—across Leonard’s face for a split second. But Spock would not have hounded McCoy, followed him this far, if the lawyer didn’t think it was a worthy plan. Jim finds that he has to believe in Spock as much as he believes in Bones.

Kirk asks Mr. Spock carefully, “What happens if McCoy’s marriage is exposed as a sham?”

“Part of the hearing will require testimonies from Leonard and his spouse concerning the validity and stability of their relationship. In the event of discovery of the arrangement, he would face possible charges of perjury and fraud. The venture is not without risk.”

“But if he wins visitation rights, he gets Joanna.”

“Should the home environment prove beneficial to Joanna over time, Leonard gains proof that he is an excellent caretaker and he may be awarded joint custody. The outline of this plan, however,” Spock tells Leonard directly, “spans the course of several years. You must prepare yourself for its duration.”

Leonard groans into his hands. “Y’all are talkin’ like this is decided. Well it ain’t! I’m the one who has to—“ Leonard clenches the armrests of his chair, like he had another sudden shock.

Jim’s mouth goes inexplicably dry when he sees the way Leonard is looking at Spock.

McCoy says calmly, if in a slightly deep voice, “You’ve been thinking on this for a while now, Spock. Can you honestly say the idea doesn’t bother you? Me marrying some woman?” Then with gentleness, “What if I fell for her, eventually?”

Spock is equally calm. “You must be allowed to see your daughter. I will help you accomplish this. If I have personal feelings over how the goal is attained, they are irrelevant.”

“You can’t be my lawyer if you don’t _feel_ , Spock.”

“I do feel, Leonard,” and Spock stands at this soft admission, clearly unwilling to discuss the matter further.

Jim interjects, “Enough, Bones” when Leonard refuses to leave the subject alone. “We aren’t going to solve this problem overnight.”

“You are correct, Mr. Kirk. I only ask that Leonard consider my proposal before we speak again.”

“And Bones will," Jim assures the lawyer. "Give him a day or two to think it over.”

“I shall.” Spock bids Leonard and Jim goodnight and announces that he has notes to review. They make no comment on Spock's swift retreat to the second floor. Nor do they say much to one another in his absence.

~~~

Winona rests her cheek on the crown of Jim’s head. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Jim pulls back to look at her. “What? Why? Bones is the one—“

“Jim,” she says to him, “you can’t fool the woman who birthed you. I’ve seen the way you look at Leonard. People used to tell me I had that look when I was with George.”

He opens his mouth to deny it but she simply stares at him until he turns away, face hot.

Winona runs a hand over his hair. “You may think it wouldn’t matter if Leonard had a wife in name only, but I know you. Even if you love someone you could never legally marry, you would be married in your heart—you would act as if you were—and it wouldn’t feel right if he had a wife.”

“Hey, I’m not really much for commitment or propriety,” Jim mumbles and his mother replies, “Nonsense! You’re _my_ son, James. You won’t settle until you find the right person—and when you do find that person, it’s forever.”

She doesn’t say _Like it is forever for me and your father, even though he’s gone._ She doesn’t need to.

Jim jokes, “You make Bones sound like my soulmate.” He glances at her, catching the tail-end of a strange expression on her face.

“I think he’s close” is all Jim’s mother offers as explanation.

Jim tries to ask her what she means but Winona pulls her robe tightly around her and stares out over the field, eyes unfocused. “Do you want to know what I think about Mr. Spock’s idea, Jimmy, or should I stay quiet?”

“Of course I do,” he replies, startled that she would ask.

“You know my opinion on marriage. I know some people marry for convenience rather than love, but I think back to that time I had with your father, before he was deployed, and I can’t help but want two people to marry because they have what George and I shared.”

Jim is always simultaneously pained and happy to hear about his father, particularly when Winona speaks of him with such love in her voice. Why his parents couldn’t have had a lifetime together makes him inevitably sad for his mother.

“But then I think about being a mother, having you—" She smiles at him. “—and I would never want to be without you. I would miss _you_ more than I miss George. If the plan can work, Leonard has to do it. He needs his baby girl.”

Jim nods and bows his head.

“C’mon, love,” coaxes his mother, “let’s go inside now.”

He lets her lead him along the fence to a small gate, then through the garden and back to the kitchen. They linger there, each enjoying a glass of warm milk and not saying a word. When Jim finally stretches out on the couch again, he is fast asleep within several minutes, more at peace but more heartbroken than he has ever been in his life.


	9. Part Nine

"Hi," Jim says, smiling as he bends down to the girl's level. She peeks at Jim from behind her brother, and Jim is smitten with her shyness and wide brown eyes. Chekov says something in Russian to his little sister. Sasha Chekov, as Pavel introduced her, shakes her head vehemently and repeats a phrase with insistence. Poor Pavel looks defeated by the eight-year old.

Jim attempts to appear non-threatening but he is fairly thrumming with curiosity.

Pavel sighs. "I told Sasha that you are a friend but she refuses to leave our room unless..." The young man is embarrassed. "Unless you promise to buy her an ice cream cone."

Noting the trash bin full of take-out boxes and the obvious lack of other food items in the small motel room, Jim is determined that Pavel and Sasha cannot continue to live at the Star. He realizes that he hasn't replied in regards to Pavel's disguised plea, and he turns to Sasha, grinning brightly.

"There's no way I'd offer to take a girl out to dinner and ask her to skip dessert," he says with mock appall. "And since you are the cutest girl I've seen in a while, you can have at least _two_ scoops of ice cream." He exaggerates looking her over and says seriously, "You like chocolate, don't you?"

Sasha shakes her head, pigtails flying.

 _Does Pavel braid her hair?_ Jim wonders.

Jim widens his eyes. "Vanilla?"

Her second rejection is fiercer than the first.

He makes a show of thinking hard. "Okay, okay. Not chocolate and not vanilla. Strawberry?"

Sasha ducks behind Pavel again. Pavel smiles at Jim. "Yes, strawberry is her favorite flavor."

"Great," says Jim, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. "Do you think Sasha wouldn't mind a burger and fries if I solemnly swear to stop for ice cream afterward?"

Sasha skips past the men to peek out the open motel room door at the parking lot. Jim takes that as a good sign. Pavel escorts his sister to the truck and helps her climb in, situating the girl between Pavel and Jim. When Kirk catches Sasha eyeing the truckbed over her shoulder, he whispers conspiratorially, "Next time you can ride in the back—but only if we are outside city limits. There's a silly law that says people aren't allowed to ride in the truckbed when in town. Okay?"

She pretends not to understand him, but Jim can tell by the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that Sasha does, quite well. He will ask Pavel later how much English she knows—if she can speak and read it. That leads him to think of school, which a girl her age should undoubtedly be enrolled in. Yet Sasha stays hidden in the dingy motel, and Pavel looks nervous as they ride through town with Sasha in plain sight.

There has to be a way, Jim thinks, that Pavel and Sasha can have a good life in Riverside and avoid trouble with whatever authorities they obviously don't want looking their way.

Then he is distracted by Sasha's fascination and avid pointing at the playground of the Burger King Jim pulls the truck into. She scampers out of the truck with enthusiasm, only hesitating at the entrance to glance back at Pavel. Her face is almost pleading.

Jim squeezes Pavel's shoulder and says quietly to him, "Go on. You watch Sasha while she plays and I'll order the food. Deal?"

His heart twists at the naked gratitude in Chekov's eyes. Jim makes his way to the counter and orders several items from the menu, thinking that what they don't eat they can take to go. Then, Jim grins to himself, it will be time for the Ice Cream Shoppe.

~~~

Jim is the guy who knows everyone and whom everyone knows. He leads the three-person expedition through the door of the shop with marching steps (which Sasha tries to copy, going _stomp, stomp, stomp_ and making her twin braids bounce in the air).

"Betts!" Jim calls out. An older woman rounds a long counter display of ice cream, crying joyfully, "Jimmy! You terrible child, I haven't seen you in ages!" Meaning he hasn't stopped by in the last few weeks and shame on him! Then she catches sight of the round-eyed Chekov's—both with almost comically identical expressions—and makes an _hmm_ noise.

She clucks at Kirk, "I see you brought customers."

Jim pouts. "I'm a customer too."

She pats his shoulder before motioning Sasha and Pavel to go over to the counter. "Silly, you're family. Though even family has to pay," she tacks on with a grin.

There is a warm curl of happiness in Jim's chest. Luckily Nyota isn't around to hear her aunt's words. She would toss up her hands and say, " _Why him?_ "

Elizabeth 'Betts' Uhura turns toward the backroom of the Ice Cream Shoppe and shouts for her husband. A man scurries out, jamming a small folded white hat onto his head.

"Customers, Joe," says Betts. She points emphatically at the little girl and purses her lips as if to say _how could you possibly be idling in the back at a time like this?_

Joesph Uhura fiddles with the cash register a moment then clasps his hands patiently together while Sasha presses her nose against the display glass and mutters over the different selections of ice cream. Mr. Uhura winks at Jim the moment Betts turns away to smile at other customers seated at tables and booths.

Kirk grins when Joe asks, "What'll it be, Jimmy?"

"Oh, I don't know. What's the new flavor of the month?"

"Black cherry chocolate."

"That sounds good," Jim says, rocking back on his heels and pretending not to notice Pavel shooting side-long glances his way. "But then again, so does pistachio almond. Or mudpie. Oooh, bubblegum!" His grin widens when Sasha effectively elbows him out of the way to look at the bright blue, bubblegum ice cream.

"So," Joe remarks dryly, "the usual for you." He is already scooping out plain chocolate ice cream as he says this.

"Don't forget the whipped cream," Jim adds, completing their tradition.

"'Course. Extra whipped cream for little Jimmy Kirk."

Technically Jim isn't little anymore but the Uhura's never let him forget his first trip to the Ice Cream Shoppe. He had been seven years old and tried to rock the counter to "make the ice cream come out!" Winona had taken her boy firmly in hand but Joe had laughed off little Jimmy's enthusiasm and obediently followed all the boy's loud directions on how to make the perfect chocolate sundae—extra whipped cream included.

Sasha can't decide between the strawberry and the rainbow sherbet and seems shocked when Mr. Uhura says, "Why not both?" She accepts a cup containing a scoop of each flavor, complete with a scattering of sprinkles, and skips happily to a vacant table. Pavel takes twice as long as the rest of them to decide what he wants, finally settling on vanilla with hot fudge.

Pavel has simple, classic tastes, Jim decides. Interesting.

While Pavel's sister swings her legs and looks at her surroundings curiously, Pavel notes, "This is a wery nice place but it is not new. It has been here a long time, da?"

Jim savors the last bite of his sundae (he always inhales ice cream; it's a bad habit) and nods. Using his plastic spoon as a pointer, he indicates Mr. and Mrs. Uhura. "That's Nyota's aunt and uncle."

Pavel makes a cute _O_ -shape with his mouth. "Why does she not—?"

"Work here?" supplies Jim. "She did during the summers, until her senior year in high school. That was her rebellious period." He remembers those times fondly. "She takes classes over at the tech college in the next town part-time. Bob—I mean, Mr. Wesley, the guy who owns The Diner, is pretty good about school schedules and stuff. And of course I think she's sick of ice cream, at least the family business part of it."

"Oh," says Pavel. "You and Nyota went to the same schools?"

"Not many choices around here." Jim shrugs. "I was two years ahead of her, but we've known each other a long time. She came to Riverside when she was close to Sasha's age." Jim glances at a corner booth, reliving a memory.

It was the summer he was ten when he first met Nyota Uhura. Jimmy had successfully convinced his babysitter—a teenage girl named Helen—into an ice cream run. (More like threatened to go by himself, which he undoubtedly could have achieved, and she had given in.) Being a talkative and nosy boy, he left Helen at the front counter (his babysitter was batting her eyelashes at the young man hired as summer help and talking in a giggly voice that Jimmy found disturbing) and, upon surveying the other customers, found himself watching a miserable-faced girl not bothering to eat her ice cream cone. So he did what he was apt to do at that age (and any age, really); Jimmy invited himself to her table and slid into the booth opposite of her.

She said nothing of his sudden appearance or invasion of her personal space.

"Whatcha doin'?" Jimmy asked as he licked chocolate ice cream from his spoon.

The girl had a short ponytail and pretty dark eyes. Jimmy pushed his sundae across the table at her. "Your ice cream's meltin'. Want some of mine?"

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

"I don't have cooties," the boy insisted. "I'm Jimmy Kirk. I live on a farm."

"Go away," said the girl.

"We have a pond," he continued, "near my house 'n it's good for catchin' fish."

"Fish are slimy."

"Yeah," Jimmy agreed, grinning. "We can go fishing."

She glared. "No."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I'm a girl."

"My mom's a girl and she fishes with me all the time."

"I said I don't want to."

Jimmy was hardheaded, a fact well-known by the residents of Riverside, Iowa. "Maybe if you told me your name you'd want to." Ah, boy-logic; his mother professed not to understand it.

Apparently neither did this girl. "That's dumb."

"Where are your parents?" Jimmy leaped to the next best subject since she refused to introduce herself. Her bottom lip wobbled, and he asked, surprised, "Hey, did they leave you here by yourself?"

"No," she said. "I'm staying with my auntie and my uncle." She turned and her eyes tracked the movements of the couple behind the cash register.

Jimmy caught on quickly. "Oh! I know them, and they know me!" he said proudly. "Mr. Joe is really nice."

She nodded, eyes downcast again, and ignored Jimmy.

He shoveled the rest of his ice cream into his mouth since she didn't want any of it. "Why are you staying with them and not with your parents?"

At that age, Jimmy wasn't adept at reading people and he certainly had no idea that this girl's mother had left when she was a baby and that her father had recently died in a car accident. Hence he was rather dumbfounded when she burst into tears, dumped her melted ice cream cone into his lap, and ran off.

Young Jimmy had felt extremely bad after that because it wasn't nice to make girls cry. For two weeks, he persistently trailed her, learning that her name was Nyota Uhura (her uncle was her father's brother), whenever he managed to slip away from his babysitter. Nyota finally cracked one day, rounding on him and shouting that if he was going to hang around and be a nuisance, he might as well annoy her while they played pirates rather than skulking behind her aunt's rose bushes. Turns out that Nyota was better at climbing trees than Jimmy and looked ten times more innocent when they were caught sneaking into an R-rated film at the local movie theatre; she felt the same way about never knowing her mom that Jimmy felt about his dad; and she could punch like a boy.

They were good friends, and stayed friends in spite of puberty sneaking up on them. Nyota began to hang out with girl friends and talk about makeup, and Jim spent hours on the basketball court with guys and eventually discovered that the opposite sex was great for entirely different reasons than faking tears and making the policeman feel sympathetic for the two kids after they had taken Joseph Uhura's brand new Pontiac out for a test drive, and Jim had driven it onto the sidewalk and into a post office drop-box at the age of twelve.

Even now, Kirk and Uhura maintain a good balance between long-time friendship, brother-sister teasing, and adult flirting. In some ways, he thinks Nyota Uhura knows him better than most people. He thinks he knows her that well, too.

Jim is pulled back to the present when Sasha, having finished her ice cream, says something to Pavel. Despite Pavel's obviously gentle reply, her shoulders slump. Jim looks questioningly at Pavel.

"She said she did not want to go back to the motel." Pavel's face is both pensive and sad. "But I told her it vas not safe to be outside for too long."

Jim taps his finger on the tabletop. "What if," he begins, "we took her to the diner? She can look around the kitchen. Sulu won't mind," he adds, hoping that the mention of Sulu would be enough for Pavel.

It must be because Pavel says, "Yes! Dis we can do. She vould be safe with Hikaru."

Jim isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He ushers Pavel and Sasha back to his truck. Within minutes, they are parked near the back of The Diner. Jim gives a perfunctory knock on the kitchen door before he leads Sasha inside. The girl seems to like him better now that she has a Whopper, fries, and ice cream in her belly. Her hand feels tiny in his hand.

Sulu doesn't look at them until he has finished transferring a grilled chicken breast onto a bun piled with tomatoes and lettuce. Pavel hurries past Jim, grabs a rag to safeguard his hand, and helps pour fresh french fries from the oil fryer onto the plate.

Sulu thanks Chekov and slides the meal through the kitchen window, ringing the bell so the waitress knows the order is ready. Then he looks at Pavel for a long moment before turning.

Hikaru's eyes skip Kirk and land on Sasha. He bows as he says formally, gravely, "Hello. I am Hikaru Sulu."

Sasha curtsies. "I am Sasha Chekova. Hello, Mr. Sulu." She asks immediately, "Are you Chinese?"

She knows English, then, despite her heavy accent. There is a small smile on Sulu's face. "I am Japanese," replies the chef.

Jim silently applauds himself for his grand idea.

He lifts Sasha onto a stool. "Do you think you will be bored if I leave you with Mr. Sulu, Sasha?" he asks the child.

"No, Mr. Kirk," she answers shyly. It's the first time she has spoken to him directly. He leaves her in the care of Pavel and Hikaru.

Jim almost knocks over Uhura on his way out of the kitchen. She smacks his arm with a wet dishtowel. "If I break a plate, it's _your_ head that will roll, Jim" he is informed smartly.

Jim sidles to the other side of the counter, out of her reach, and quirks his mouth. "You wouldn't hurt me, Uhura."

"So that time I kicked you in the balls was an accident?"

 _No._ "I take it back, you would hurt me—just not in front of witnesses."

She refills two tea glasses, looking amused. Jim decides to retreat farther. _Now where can he go, who can he...?_

And there is one person, out of everyone available, that his eyes land on and refuse to leave. He swallows, walks over to an occupied booth, and asks carefully, "Is this seat taken?"

Spock doesn't bother to look up from his legal pad. "You may join me, Mr. Kirk."

One minute Jim is smart; the next he is stupid. This is probably one of his stupider moments. Spock barely acknowledges Kirk's presence, answering the mundane "How are you?" with "I am hale. Thank you for inquiring."

Silence stretches between them, interrupted only by Uhura exchanging a hot cup of tea for the cold one near Spock's left hand. The look she levels at Jim is no less _Is this wise?_ but not overly judgmental, simply concerned. She couldn't know half of why Jim ought to leave Spock alone, yet Nyota is astute enough to pick up on his nervousness. (James Kirk, nervous. An unusual occurrence.)

Jim rubs a thumb along his eyebrow. His knee bounces until he realizes he is fidgeting and makes an effort to remain motionless.

After what seems an interminable time, Spock makes a last note on the paper before him and tucks away a fountain pen. "How may I assist you?" the lawyer asks.

Now speared by Mr. Spock's full attention, Jim is at a loss for words. He shrugs and unconsciously begins tearing apart a paper napkin.

"Then you do not seek me out because you wish to talk?"

"I—no. No, I don't think so," he says slowly, surprised at the truth. "I thought... you might want company?"

Jim thinks he sees Spock's shoulders lower just a fraction; though it is might simply be his imagination.

"I am not adverse to the suggestion," Spock replies, and yeah, Jim has done something right because Spock seems less like a frightening lawyer now. Of course, Jim has not forgotten that beneath that polished and unruffled veneer, Spock is very human. A man in love—and a man willing to love unselfishly.

Jim balls up the tatters of the napkin and hides them in his jacket pocket. "Hey, Spock," he asks without thinking, "do you know how to bowl?"

Spock's short silence is indication that he did not expect such a strange question. "I am aware of the mechanics of bowling."

"But you've never been bowling," Jim guesses.

"I have not experienced this sport, no."

"Hmm," Jim hums. "Let's go bowling."

Does Spock practice in the mirror to get that perfect arch of his eyebrow? Jim pictures the scenario and breaks into a grin. He stands up, decided. "Me and you. C'mon."

"Mr. Kirk, I do not think it wise—"

"Jim, remember? And why not? Do you think you'll lose? 'Cause that's entirely likely." He waggles his brows. "I'm unbeatable."

Mr. Spock neatly packs his briefcase and stands, too. "Then I must observe your flawless skill, Jim."

Excited beyond reason, Jim tells the man to wait by the door and _he'll be right back!_ Before Jim can hurtle through the kitchen door, Uhura blocks his path and catches his arm.

"You're leaving?" she asks with a frown.

"Yeah," he says, pulling out of her grip. "Yeah, I just have to see if Sulu will take Pavel and Sasha—"

She waves his babbling away with a careless hand. "I can do that. I'm off-shift in ten minutes." Nyota almost says something else but shakes her head. Instead she tells Kirk, "I thought you might want to go out tonight."

"With you?" Jim asks dumbly. That sounds worse coming out of his mouth than in his head. He flinches but Nyota rolls her eyes.

"No, with the Easter bunny. _Of course_ with me. And Christine—and Leonard."

He hasn't seen Bones since the night at the farmhouse. "You're... going out with Bones?" He tries not to think of the implications of that, but his mind is suddenly filled with images of Bones and Uhura: holding hands, laughing together, then Bones pulls out a ring and—

Jim feels sick.

Nyota plants a hand on her hip, clearly tired of waiting for his brain to catch up with the rest of the show. "Christine suggested dragging Leonard to a bar for after-hours drinks. She said we could have a small welcoming party—and that he looked like he needed to unwind. Although, Dr. McCoy's grumpy bedside manner seems to be permanent." Her mouth curves in a wicked smile. Jim relaxes. "Apparently Jan's father came into the clinic, being the dick that he is, and Leonard snapped on a latex glove in the middle of the lobby and told Frank prostate exams were half-off this week and that even sheriff's deputies knew the value of regular checkups, didn't they?"

Jim's stomach aches from the struggle not to laugh. Uhura looks smug. When he is straight-faced again, Kirk sighs with real regret. "As much I love drinking with gorgeous women, I think—I want to go with Spock, okay?"

She steps back. "If that's what you want, Jim." They say no more on the subject and Jim offers a hasty farewell to Pavel and Sasha. Sasha is too busy making cookies under Sulu's direction to pay him much attention. Pavel, on the other hand, leans in and says, "Thank you for today, Jim."

He smiles. "No problem. She's a great kid, Pavel." He hesitates. "It'd be okay if you brought her here once and while, you know. Just keep her in the back and stuff. I used to stay back here sometimes while my mother worked."

Chekov returns his smile. "She vould like that. Me, too."

Jim exits the kitchen in high spirits. Spock is standing, ramrod straight, by the door with a coat draped over one arm and his briefcase in hand. Jim holds the door open for his soon-to-be bowling buddy. (He plans to trick Spock into participation if necessary.) "My truck's around back."

"Your mother's vehicle," corrects Mr. Spock.

He laughs. "Are you always so stubborn?"

Spock settles next to him in the cab of the truck and hooks in his seat belt. "I suspect we are of a similar nature, Jim."

"Then we have something in common."

Spock is somewhat serious when he replies, "It is the second thing we have in common."

Jim glances at Spock out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah," he agrees. "I guess it is."


	10. Part Ten

Jim boggles at Spock. “How do you keep doing that?!” He stares at the row of perfect strikes on the overhead scoreboard, wondering if the computer is boggling over Spock’s ability too. Kirk tells the man seriously, “You should bowl professionally.”

“I am content with my current profession,” Spock replies as he resumes his seat in one of the plastic chairs.

Jim is certain he has no chance at winning this game. Nevertheless, he hoists up his bowling ball and tosses it down the lane, not bothering to watch if it rolls into the gutter or strikes down a few pins.

Spock wants to know, “Are you tired?”

“I’m depressed,” Kirk moans in despair. “Your superior skills depress me, Spock.” He peeks from under his lashes at the other man to make sure Spock isn’t taking him seriously.

The lawyer merely responds, face calm, "Bowling is a science. If I maintain the correct balance of weight while I aim and throw the ball and also apply a substantial force during the toss, the ball eliminates all the pins at the end of the lane. Is this not the purpose of the game?”

“Yes...” Jim says slowly, "but nobody gets all those things perfectly each time. It's human nature to err, if only by a margin.” He eyes Spock. “Are you certain you aren’t, like, a terminator or something?”

“What is a terminator?”

Jim makes a noise of disbelief. His list of ‘things to teach or show Spock’ now has its tenth item. They might need a movie week at this rate. It’s amazing how smart and worldly Spock is, yet how he sadly lacks knowledge in pop culture.

“Never mind,” Kirk tells his bowling partner. “I’m going to get a beer. You want a beer?”

“No, thank you.”

Jim shrugs and trots over to the café area of the bowling alley. When he returns with a mostly full bottle of beer in hand, Spock is seated perfectly still. Yet Jim gets the impression that were the man anyone else, he would be fidgeting.

Spock does not look at Jim when he speaks. “If you wish, I can show you how to improve your score.”

Jim sets aside the bottle and trails his fingers along the smooth surfaces of the bowling balls on the top rack. He tries to make his “Okay” as nonchalant as possible.  
Jim finds the bowling ball he has been using and slips his fingers into the three finger holes. He hesitates a moment before taking up his usual beginning position.

Is it normal to be so hyperaware of Spock standing behind him? It's definitely _not_ normal to shiver when those fingers (elegantly long fingers, Jim notes, the kind a musician might have) adjust the angle of his arm.

Then Spock slowly circles to face Jim and says, “Walk forward.”

Jim wets his bottom lip. “You’re, ah, blocking me.”

“Walk forward,” Spock repeats.

Jim does. Spock walks backward at the same time. Spock’s eyes are not on Jim’s but rather watching Kirk’s hips, his legs. Jim realizes that Spock is analyzing the way he moves, and Jim halts, embarrassed.

“You need to allow more of your weight to settle on your right foot when you step forward to release the ball.”

“What else?” Jim asks.

Spock shifts, reaches out, and slides his hand along Jim’s forearm. His fingers linger on the inside of Jim’s wrist. The touch isn’t meant to be intimate but Jim feels warm anyway.

“Do not bend your wrist,” advises Mr. Spock. He steps to the side, out of the way.

Jim resumes the starting position again, jokes “If I strike out, I’ll buy your dinner” and bowls. His fingers don’t seem as reluctant as before to slide out the holes and the ball hits the lane with barely a _thud_. The aim is not dead-center but the momentum is great. The ball knocks down over half of the pins. Maybe Spock knows what he’s talking about, amateur bowler or not.

He turns. “I’ll buy dinner anyway.”

“Shall we finish this game?”

“Let's not,” Jim says cheerfully. “We both know you won.”

He tosses his newly opened beer in the closest trash can and they turn in their shoes. The guy behind the front counter congratulates Spock on his lucky strikes.

Spock replies, “I have more faith in talent than luck, Sir.”

Jim grins. “Then _lucky_ for you, Spock—you’re talented!”

Spock does not laugh but somehow Jim can tell he is amused.

Dinner is less adventurous. Jim avoids the nearby steakhouse, bypasses Rick’s since the club satisfies most male appetites except the eating kind, and he winds up pulling the truck into a shopping center parking lot. Spock raises his eyebrow but does not comment. Jim merely says “Trust me” and climbs out of the cab.

Tucked between a laundromat and an independent grocery store is a small space for a business. There is no name, only a small, half-broken sign that flashes Open in the corner. Its windows are tinted for privacy.

Jim does not hesitate to enter the establishment, and Spock follows.

The restaurant is gorgeously decorated on the inside with an heavy Asian influence: gold tablecloths, tapestries lining the walls, palm foliage—reds, greens, and browns. The main room is packed with people. Jim smells the faint scent of incense—something sleepy, like sandalwood.

They stand just inside the entrance until one of the waiters has a second to spare. Jim greets the young man. “Table for two, please.”

“Reservation?”

“No.”

The man frowns at the open notebook resting on a short podium. “We might not have an available table—I’m sorry.”

Jim laughs, which startles the waiter. “You’ve always got room for me.” He holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jim Kirk and this is Mr. Spock. Can you tell Gary we’re here?”

The man looks dubious. “Sir...”

“Just let him know, or—“ Jim pretends to consider the next option. “—I can find him in the kitchen myself.”

“No! Wait here, please.”

Jim winks over his shoulder at Spock who says, “I take it you are well-acquainted with the owner.”

Jim simply smiles. The waiter hurries back to them. “Mr. Mitchell sends his regards, Mr. Kirk. If you will follow me, we have a table ready.”

They are given a table near the back wall, shaded by bamboo screens to allow for privacy. Jim has nicknamed this special area the Emperor’s Table, held in strict reserve for the best paying customers. Jim, of course, only makes a modest living but knowing the owner and chef of The Jade Leaf has its perks.

Jim picks up the tiny Thai Buddha statue in the middle of the table and turns it about in his hands. “Gary Mitchell was the head cook at The Diner for almost fifteen years.”

Spock looks up from his perusal of the menu.

“Then he just split one day, hardly gave notice. Bob—Robert Wesley, I mean—“ Spock, no doubt, knows of Riverside’s mayor. “—gave Sulu the position. Anyway, turns out that Gary decided that he had wasted enough time ignoring his dream—he told me that before he left—and took the next international flight out of the US to Thailand. He said he learned the art of making great food, not simply decent food, while he was there. Having tasted his curry, I have to agree.”

“When did Mr. Mitchell return to Riverside?” Spock inquires.

“Oh, about six, almost seven years ago. He came back and opened up this place. It’s super popular. We have the Chinese restaurant on Main but it can’t hold a candle to The Jade Leaf.” Jim catches Spock’s mutter. “What’s fascinating?” he asks, curious.

“It would seem that Riverside is a fascinating town,” Mr. Spock explains, and Jim thinks the man is hedging but does not call him out on it. “Those who leave find themselves returning; those who run find themselves unable to leave.”

Jim is quiet for a moment. He replaces the Buddha on the table. “Maybe it’s... natural, Spock,” he says, “Maybe this is the true center of the universe and no one has realized it.”

Spock observes his teasing smile. “Except you,” adds the lawyer.

“Except me,” he agrees.

Strangely, Jim does not tense under those dark, piercing eyes; in fact, he does the opposite—he relaxes. Spock could ask Jim to reveal all his secret thoughts and, without a care, he would. It no longer matters that Spock knows who Jim is, what he wants, because they both essentially are the same in the most important way.

They are willing to let McCoy go, pain or not.

Jim understands how Spock feels; he shouldn’t, not this quickly, but he does—and so Jim understands, sympathizes, even wants to comfort Spock as he is unable to comfort himself.

The waiter interrupts the silence between them, placing spring rolls and a sweet dipping sauce between them. Jim orders red shrimp curry, extra hot; Spock orders the pad thai dish without meat.

Kirk sighs theatrically when the waiter is gone. “You couldn’t have gotten something other than pad thai?”

“Peanuts are not to your liking?”

“I’m allergic to peanuts. If I eat your food, this dinner won’t end well.”

“A travesty,” says Spock, eyes shining in the flickering light of the small arrangement of tea candles on the table. “Perhaps you should concentrate on your dish instead of mine.”

He resists the urge to poke out his bottom lip in a pout. “How cruel.”

“Yes,” Spock responds, “I am... difficult on occasion. Or so I have been told.”

Jim snorts. “Bones.”

“Precisely.”

Thinking of Leonard McCoy, Jim takes a sip of his water to combat scratchiness in his throat. When he thinks he can speak normally, he asks gently, “Have you spoken to him?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Spock folds his hands in his lap and turns his face away, studying the tapestry on the opposite wall. Jim feels bad, as though he has spoiled the easy atmosphere they had going. But Spock surprises him by talking about Leonard.

“I assume that Mr. McCoy will acclimate to the idea. He is not an unreasonable man.”

“Bones says you two spent most of your senior year at Georgia University together.”

“That is correct. We had similar aspirations. It was not difficult to combine our schedules in the evenings. I... I sometimes find myself reliving those days. They were memorable.”

Pleasant, Spock means. Jim runs his fingers through the hair at his right temple. “You must think I’m—" He stumbles, unable to find a word that doesn’t sound like _easy_ or _crazy_ or some combination thereof. “I mean, the way I have—become attached to Bones in such a short time.” Jim winces. “I know what you must think of me, Spock. Honestly, I do.”

Spock looks at him, then. “You were surprised by your response to Leonard McCoy.”

Jim nods.

“I was also, when I first realized the true depth of my affection. I understand, Jim.”

“Understanding won’t help either of us.” Jim leans back into the hard leather of the booth. “What are we going to do?” The question is more serious than he meant it to be.

“I will return to Boston.”

Jim is sidetracked. “You don’t sound like a Bostonian.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry?”

“My father is a British official from the Philippines. My mother is American. I was born prematurely during a family visit in Boston, though my parents returned to the islands and I spent a majority of my early childhood there. Whenever my father traveled for extended periods of time, my mother and I accompanied him.”

“Now I understand your lack of accent. You’re an abroad child,” Jim concludes, intrigued by the offer of such personal information.

“So it would seem.”

Jim polishes off his share of the spring rolls. By the time his stomach is gurgling for more food, he has traded a handful of stories with Spock. He learns that Spock likes Boston well enough but the weather is too cold for a man who grew up in tropic heat. Spock’s mother and father are currently in Italy, and he has not seen them for several years.

Jim launches into an animated retelling of the time he almost burnt down The Diner in an oil fire while attempting to ‘out-cook’ a certain man...

A voice interrupts, growling, “I don’t remember it being that funny, Jimmy.”

Jim grins at the middle-aged Gary Mitchell. “Your chef’s hat is crooked, old man.”

Mitchell says, “I'm not wearing a hat. I won’t fall for that trick.”

“No? Too bad. You used to be fun.”

“I used to be young, except I now have gray hair because of a certain rambunctious kid by the name of Kirk.”

Jim looks around innocently. “Where?”

Mitchell drags him up by the collar. “C’mere, boy.”

Jim gladly returns the hug. Then he introduces his dinner companion. “This is Mr. Spock.”

Spock shakes Gary’s hand. Gary ignores Jim’s whine about the missing curry. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Spock. Jimmy, this guy is so respectable-looking. What in God’s name is he doing with you?”

“Ouch, Gary. That stings.” Jim plops back into the booth and plants his elbows on the table. “Spock’s a lawyer.”

Mitchell eyes Kirk. “What kind of trouble are you in?”

Jim rolls his eyes. “I have amended my evil ways.”

Mitchell crosses his arms, looking too much like he used to when Jim was a boy and had done something bad, such as switching out the sugar and salt containers. (That had been a fun day for everyone at the diner, until Gary chased the thirteen year-old mischief maker around the parking lot with a spatula and Winona made her son apologize with sincerity to each traumatized customer.)

Jim shoots a _help me out_ look at Spock.

Spock is obliging. “I assure you, Sir, that Mr. Kirk is not in immediate need of a lawyer.”

The chef’s mouth twitches. “Can’t blame a man for wondering, Jimmy. Not after that time I bailed you out of county jail.”

“I wasn’t even seventeen!”

“But you were old enough to know better.”

Jim’s face feels hot. He pins his gaze to the table. Gary leans over and ruffles his hair.

“Okay,” says the man, “I’ll stop embarrassing you in front of your date.” He adds in a loud whisper, “This one might be good for you. Teach you some manners.”

Jim sputters but Gary is already striding away, chuckling and quite content with his revenge on Kirk. The waiter pops in to refill their water glasses, and Jim dares not glance over at Spock. The awkward moment is broken by the savory smell of curry. Dinner has arrived.

Jim is soon distracted with placating his growling stomach. The conversation is not exactly verbose but it's well-mannered and rather enjoyable. Jim coaxes Spock into trying some of his curry sauce, and Jim bemoans the fact that he can’t steal the bean sprouts off Spock’s pad thai, lest he taste a hint of peanut and die. Spock is sufficiently amused by Jim’s histrionics and flashing grin.

They finish the meal, sharing for dessert a fried banana topped with vanilla ice cream and honey. Jim notes that Spock seems to have a sweet tooth that rivals his own. _A third thing they have in common_ , he thinks wryly.

The sun has long since set when they journey back to the farmhouse. Jim turns the truck onto the long dirt road that leads home. Spock stares out the passenger window in silence, and so Jim's mind wanders. He realizes, momentarily disconcerted, that he has been living at the farm for almost a month. It’s past time he went back to his apartment. Bones won’t want to rent the extra room, not now. However living alone again is somehow significantly depressing to Kirk.

“ _Jim._ ”

He catches the hushed but intense way Spock calls his name and automatically begins to brake the truck to a stop.

“What?”

They are in sight of the back of the house, yards away.

Spock says, too quietly, “McCoy.”

Jim looks ahead, to where he hadn’t really been paying attention, and sees a figure hunched on the stoop of the kitchen. The truck’s headlights illuminate the man well enough that Jim sees a bowed head and that the man's hands are jammed into his hair.

It’s Bones.

“Is he—?“ Jim swallows hard. “Shit, he’s waiting for us.”

It’s not likely that McCoy has not heard the roar of the engine. Jim can’t simply put the truck in reverse and run away. And he wouldn’t run if he could.

Jim parks the truck by his motorcycle, switches it off, gathers his courage and gets out. Spock is close on his heels.

It doesn’t take long to delineate that Bones is drunk. The smell alone is heavy, like whiskey or a liquor equally as strong. When McCoy lumbers to his feet, he sways slightly.

“Spock,” slurs the man in a gravelled voice. Then Leonard tries to leave the steps and trips over himself.

Jim catches him without thinking, saying, “Whoa! Hang on, Bones” as he tries to steady the intoxicated man. Bones sags against him, chest to chest, but he is looking at Spock. His eyes are dark green tonight, Jim notices immediately.

“Spock,” Leonard repeats. When McCoy reaches for the lawyer, Jim has no choice but to give Leonard up. Spock does not appear disturbed or even uncomfortable when McCoy mumbles into Spock’s neck and hugs him tightly. Spock rests a hand at the small of Leonard’s back, and the world darkens even though it is night-time. Air has been sucked away, leaving Jim to claw at his jacket zipper and jerk at its collar.

_Why is it so hard to breathe?_

He closes his eyes, wishing he didn’t hear McCoy crying over and over again “ _S-Sorry, Spock. I’m s-sorry._ ” When Jim opens his eyes again, something rips through him at the sight of Leonard kissing Spock and he turns away blindly.

Light is shining through the kitchen windows. Safety. Jim bounds up the stairs and pulls at the doorknob, not thinking about keys, unable to think at all. The door is unlocked, however, and he almost falls inside.

“Jim?”

He manages to gasp out, “ _Mom._ ”

Winona hurries over and takes his face between her hands. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

He shakes his head.

“You’re so pale!”

He almost leans on her, needing comfort, but a flash of McCoy in Spock’s arms burns in his mind’s eye. Jim retreats instead.

Winona looks from him to the door and back. He realizes that he did not pull it closed behind him. She can probably see them both, posed in a lover’s embrace in a halo of moonlight. Jim goes to the sink and leans over it. Kirk's control is scattered, gone.

“He was drunk when the girls brought him over,” Winona is saying from somewhere behind him.

And she didn’t let Bones in?

He must have said that out loud because his mother responds sharply, “I would have made him sleep it off but he insisted on waiting. Said he had to see—" She doesn’t finish her sentence.

Jim laughs, a liquid and rough sound. “He had to see Spock.” Jim straightens and turns to her. “It’s fine,” he says.

“Oh, Jim.”

“It’s fine. I—I’m going to bed. Spock will take care of McCoy.”

Jim walks away, his feet automatically carrying him up the stairs (though he has to brace his hand on the wall several times to get up them) and to his bedroom. He drops onto his neatly made bed, not bothering to undress, and curls up. Then Jim shoves a pillow over his head, hating the terrible ache in his throat. If he sheds a few tears, he rinses away the evidence in the morning.


	11. Part Eleven

"You aren't staying for breakfast?" Turning from the stove to stare at her only son, Winona looks mildly upset at this sudden change of plans.

It's too late to hide the duffle bag over his shoulder, so Jim grimaces and explains poorly, "I'm not hungry. I thought—I'd carry my things back to my place before I head over to the garage."

Winona sets the spatula in her hand aside and lowers the heat of the stove eye cooking the scrambled eggs. Then she gives Jim her full attention. "You're leaving?"

He nods. "I really didn't mean to stay here so long, Mom." Jim tries to smile but the smile vanishes before it can barely form. "It's kind of dumb to pay rent and not live in my apartment, anyway." He shrugs, as if his departure is no big deal and not at all an attempt to run from Spock and McCoy (who must be asleep upstairs, though Jim hadn't the heart to confirm his suspicions). "Thanks for letting me stay."

"This will always be a home for you, Jim."

Until time distances Kirk from the memory of last night, being here will be too painful to bear. He knows it—and his mother knows it, too.

"It's them, isn't it?" asks the woman, tucking a loose strand of silvery blonde hair behind her ear.

He does not answer. Instead, Jim hurries around the opposite side of the table and strides to the kitchen door. "Sorry, I gotta go. Bye, Mom."

She calls after Jim, "Tomorrow?"

Tomorrow is Sunday; it's Kirk tradition to share lunch on Sunday. Mr. Spock is not likely to leave the farm that day and will eat at their table, as he has in the past. If he does leave, however, then Jim can only imagine that Spock will go to McCoy. Kirk finds both scenarios unpleasant to contemplate.

"Probably not," he answers, shutting the door behind him. Pushing down guilt, Jim secures the bag of clothes and personal items to the back of his bike and flies toward town as fast as possible.

Will Spock or McCoy even notice his absence?

No, they will be too busy with each other to care.

His only consolation is the look on his mother's face as he scurried out the house. If Jim's interpretation is correct, Bones and Spock will have big helpings of breakfast, with disapproval served as a surprise side dish. Winona Kirk knows how to make an erring child feel chastened without saying a word; he also remembers the way she treated the cheerleader (whom he had a crush on, once upon a time) who stood him up on two consecutive dates in his sophomore year of high school. Later, the girl went to his mother's diner with a group of friends and that was the last time she ever dared show her face there. Gary had said Winona didn't do anything spiteful, but he told Jim: "The fire in your mother's eyes could have boiled an egg. By the time Winona was done serving that cheerleader and her friends, the girl was rightly ashamed of herself."

If Jim were feeling spiteful, he would want to be there when his mother takes Spock and McCoy down a peg or two. But he can't. He simply can't see them at all.

~~~

Jose finds Jim working diligently quite by accident.

A hand lands on Kirk's shoulder, shocking the mechanic out of his workaholic stupor and causing him to spin around with a pipe wrench in hand and a mighty cry issuing forth from his mouth. Jose dodges out of the way, preventing Jim from braining him, and then smacks Jim on the back of the head when Jim is sufficiently calm again.

"What the hell are you doing!" gasps the garage owner.

The pipe wrench hangs from Jim's slackened fingers, and Jim looks sheepishly at Jose. "You scared me," he says.

"Well, you almost _killed_ me!"

"Sorry."

Jose frowns and folds his arms. After he studies Jim's oil-stained shirt and jeans, he states (like Jim might not know),"It's Sunday."

Kirk turns back to the open hood of a car under which he had been working and fiddles with the engine some more. When Jose determinedly reaches over and plucks the tool from Jim's hand, Jim sighs and braces himself against the car.

"I'm busy."

"It's Sunday," repeats Jim's boss.

"Then why are you here?" he retorts with a knowing glare.

Jose rolls his eyes. "'Cause I live behind the garage, _chico_ —and I own it. You should be at your mother's house."

"Not this time," mutters Kirk as he stalks away to wipe his grease-blackened hands on a rag.

Surprisingly Jose does not push him for more information. The guy only says "I see" like he does understand (but how could he possibly?) and adds afterward, "I could use some help on the job that came in Friday."

Jim had worked a half-day on Friday so that he could take Pavel and Sasha out for a meal. He cuts his thoughts off there, not wanting to remember a path which leads to what happened at the end of that night. Following Jose to the other side of the garage, Jim watches the man lift the sheet covering the mysterious new "job" and whistles at the sight of the car.

A '65 Corvette Sting Ray.

 _Hell_ yes. He turns to Jose and growls, "How could you hide this from me?"

Jose raises his hands in a gesture of _hey, never_. "I was going to tell you about her on Monday."

For a moment, they appreciate the antique Corvette as automobile-lovers. Then Jim circles around the car once, taking a visual survey of what needs fixing on the outside—not much, actually, because it looks like it has barely been used; but the red paint is chipped by age and will need to be stripped. Jose pops the hood with a flourish, and they crowd together to take a look. Jim instantly recognizes the real problem with the car.

It hasn't been used often enough. People don't realize the kind of corrosion that can take place when a vehicle sits in a yard too long. Even tires are liable to rot. This engine, though—this engine needs some careful cleaning and a few key replacements—but hopefully not a new engine because Jim doesn't want to replace the original parts unless necessary—before it can be salvaged.

"Who brought it in?"

"Oh that guy—you know, the one staying out at your farm."

Jim takes a few seconds to draw in a slow breath and exhale. "Mr. Spock."

Jose pokes his fingers at a loose hose and lifts it up to see the engine parts beneath it. "That'd be the one," he says absently. "Said he purchased it from a colleague. We're to have it ready ASAP." Jose adds, animated, "She's beautiful now but she'll be gorgeous when we're done!" The man sounds breathless with anticipation. His lust for antique cars could rival Jim's.

Jim wants to know, "What's the budget?"

"Ah, we come to the interesting part." Jose grins at the bright-eyed man. "Your friend said expenses don't matter. He's got _dinero_ , yeah?"

"I guess he does." Jim stares at the car for a long time. "How did Spock get his hands on this?"

"If I knew the answer to that," Jose remarks, "I'd probably get drunk off my ass because I didn't think of it first."

Spock may be one of the root causes of Jim's unhappiness today but Jim certainly isn't stupid enough to pass up a chance like this because of hurt feelings. He runs a hand over the side of the Corvette, almost seeing the moment he drives her out of the parking lot, new coat of red paint aglow and a finely tuned, powerful engine roaring like sweet music.

Somewhere outside of the daydream, Jose is saying, "I know that look, Jim. Remember, this isn't your car."

Jim snorts. "Maybe not, but Spock owes me at least one test drive."

Jose simply shakes his head and motions for Jim to go find the nearest toolbox. Jim winds up spending his Sunday not at the farmhouse per usual, but blissfully lost to the depths of joy nonetheless.

It's truly strange, he decides late that night as he swings his bike out of the garage parking lot and onto the main road, that Spock can be party to both ruining and restoring Jim's mood.

~~~

Kirk is officially avoiding social calls during the following week and he hangs out in his apartment when he isn't at work. He doesn't go to The Diner to say hi to Sulu or stop by the Star Motel to give Sasha the jump rope he bought on a whim for her while out gathering supplies. The only true connection he makes is with the Corvette, but the car is at the stage where she refuses to cooperate as he tries to coax her to purr. It's not until Jim Kirk runs into Nyota Uhura outside a grocery store that he remembers his absence is likely to be noticed by the people who aren't Spock or McCoy.

Nyota cuts short Jim's hasty retreat across the parking lot by running him down with a shopping cart. Several townspeople stop to stare and, without a doubt, to eavesdrop on this unusual spectacle. Jim rubs his twinging back muscles and moans at the abuse dealt to him.

Nyota says, "Get up. I didn't hit you that hard."

"Seriously, Uhura—with the buggy?"

She huffs. "You were getting away."

Jim begins to limp in the direction of his motorcycle. Nyota immediately grabs the back of his jacket and hauls him toward the grocery store. "You were going in," she says by way of explanation, "and I need to pick up a few things."

 _A few things_ turn out to be a long list written in Uhura's neat handwriting. Jim is consigned into grocery-shopping duty and delegated the task of pushing the shopping cart. (At least it isn't the cart that hit him, he thinks, grimly amused.) Since the only way he can reclaim his pride is by being an annoying shopping partner, Jim plucks random items off the shelves and drops them into the cart. Nyota makes him stop walking once and a while to frown down at the cart's contents and berate him for picking up things like easy cheese canisters and a jar of pig's feet. He only grins and leans on the cart, saying, "C'mon, who doesn't eat pig's feet?"

Eventually Nyota corners Jim in the dairy section—after preventing his joyful skid along the ice cream aisle—and demands to know why he has become a hermit.

Jim protests, "I'm not a hermit!"

"I haven't seen you all week."

He can't help but grin a little. "So you miss me."

"If I don't see you, I can't tell you to go away," she counters indignantly.

"Aw, you miss me!" Jim makes an exaggerated kissy face that has her laughing, and soon he is chuckling too. An older woman passes them by, frowning because they are blocking her access to the packaged varieties of cheese.

Once they sober, Jim catches the indecisive look that flits across Uhura's face. He forestalls her question by squeezing her hand and saying, "I'm okay, really. I just need some time to myself."

"All right, Jim, but don't forget those of us who like having you around."

"I won't," he promises.

She sighs but accepts that he won't tell her why he wants to be alone. On the other hand, as Jim is placing heavy-laden grocery bags into the truck of Nyota's car, he supposes that Nyota has a way of finding out what she wants to know—and Jim won't have to said a word about it to her.

~~~

Another quiet day and another lonely night passes by. Jim jerks awake to the sound of knocking. Removing his arm from across his eyes, he sits up from his sprawl on his couch and squints against the bright sunlight of morning. A headache looms just around the back of his head. The second bout of knocking does nothing to assuage it. With a sigh, he goes to the apartment door, only pausing to check that he is decently clothed before opening it to tell whoever has come to bother him to piss off.

Except he doesn't get a chance to do so because Gaila beams at his startled face and shoves past Jim into his apartment. She gives the place a cursory glance before turning to Jim and saying, "Well hello to you, too!"

"Uh, hi," Jim manages slowly.

"Aren't you chipper this morning, Jim." She is now in his kitchen, frowning at large at the inside of his refrigerator.

Jim approaches the counter separating the living room from the kitchen. "Gaila, not that I don't love seeing you, but why are you here?"

"Hmm? You don't have any beer. Did you drink it all?" The red-haired woman inspects his appearance, no doubt deciding he's scruffy but not the drunk kind of scruffy (which is true). Then Gaila answers his question. "I had a chat with Nyota. She said you were staying in your apartment again."

"And you're the welcome back party?" Jim crosses his arms. "Look, Gaila, I-I'm terrible company right now."

She waves a languid hand at him. "I'm not looking for a lay, Kirk, if that's what you think. Don't be so... _male_."

He knows she isn't here for sex. They don't have that kind of relationship anymore. But Gaila rarely does anything without a motive; he just can't fathom what that motive might be at eight o'clock in the morning.

Perhaps she sees him thinking hard because she says too sweetly, "I'll make coffee. You obviously need caffeine."

"I don't have any—"

Gaila produces a miniature canister of French Roast from her purse and triumphantly shakes it at him. Jim is a sucker for French Roast; he imagines that he can smell the brew already—and, damn it, Gaila knows him too well.

She peers into his ancient coffeemaker and makes a sound of disgust. "When's the last time you cleaned this?"

Bones had said the same thing when Jim showed him this apartment, attempting to persuade the man to move in.

The appeal of morning coffee wanes with the memory but Gaila is having none of Jim's "I don't need caffeine." She takes out a sponge from God knows where and proceeds to clean the coffee machine until it is suitable to make a cup of French Roast. Jim doesn't bother to protest further, since he knows her well, too.

Within five minutes, the apartment smells deliciously of roast coffee. Jim accepts a mug from Gaila and she turns to pour herself a cup.

"Oh, shoot!" cries the woman. "Jim, where's your kitchen towel?"

"Don't have one."

Gaila plants her hands on her hips, facing him. There is a streak of coffee down the front of her shirt.

"You should be more careful," Jim says, using his mug to hide his budding smile.

Her eyes narrow. "You're useless." Pulling the wet part of her shirt away from her skin, Gaila says in annoyance, "This is silk! The stain won't come out!"

Jim asks, "Where are you going?" when she rounds the counter and marches in the direction of his bedroom.

"Bathroom," she calls back. Then, oddly, "Find something for us to eat, Jim. I'm starving!"

He swallows a mouthful of hot coffee before reluctantly trudging across the kitchen to the far cabinet. When is the last time he went grocery-shopping, not including his excursion with Uhura? Pulling open the cabinet door reveals the answer to be too long ago. Jim drags out a dented can of pork and beans and feels his mouth quirk at the corner. Gaila would brain him with the can if he offered it to her.

What else is there...?

Jim grimaces at the back of his refrigerator, wondering if that strange-colored mold is a product of something he forgot to remove after its expiration date or if it is a creature in its own right, slowly intent on overtaking the entire middle shelf. He is about to touch it like a curious child when someone knocks on his apartment door again—more tentatively this time.

Jim grunts, resolutely deciding to post a Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of his door, and closes the refrigerator. But before he can take a step, a red blur bounds through the living room with the cry, "I've got it!"

Jim realizes belatedly that, as Gaila answers the front door, she is in her bra, shirtless.

And apparently unconcerned about her state of undress. Jim gapes as Gaila leans against the doorframe to greet the newcomer in a slightly deeper, sexy voice, "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

Jim hears a hesitant "I—I musta made a mistake, ma'am. Do you know which apartment Jim Kirk lives in?" and pales.

He is already trying to get around the counter and to the door—his feet have turned into two bumbling idiots and he knocks his shin on the corner of a table, stumbling—but Gaila says delightedly, laughing, "Oh, you're in the right place! Come in, come in."

She opens the door wide, standing aside, and Leonard steps just inside the entrance. Jim freezes, slightly hunched over and clutching at his abused kneecap. Standing behind Leonard is Spock.

Gaila smiles innocently and tells Kirk, "Jim, you have visitors."

No one moves and Galia breaks the awkward moment by pointing at the couch and inviting the two men to have a seat.

Perhaps McCoy and Spock are as caught unawares as Jim; perhaps Gaila sounds somewhat menacing (Jim thinks she does). Nevertheless, they sit and Jim attempts to calm his breathing.

Shit, what must this look like? "Gaila," he says, voice strangled. "You, uh—"

She looks at him and smiles in such a way that Jim's stomach sinks to the floor. She adjusts her bra, saying, "They're just breasts, dear. You have always appreciated my breasts."

Now is not the time for her to be playing coy. "Just—please," Jim manages to say. He can barely articulate what he wants.

She understands him, though. With a shrug, Gaila saunters away toward his bedroom. Jim lets his gaze linger in that direction because he doesn't want to face the two men sitting silently side by side on his couch.

Just when he wishes someone would say something (Jim would if he were less of a coward), Bones speaks. "We're intruding. We should go."

"No," Jim responds quickly. "You're not, I mean, Gaila and I aren't—"

"What he's trying to say," Gaila finishes for him, "is that I'm his _ex_ -girlfriend and you weren't interrupting anything naughty." Her lips curve wickedly as she comes to stand beside Jim. The redhead is wearing a faded Iowa University t-shirt, obviously belonging to Kirk. "I hope you don't mind," she coos, "I'm borrowing your shirt."

He can't help but crack a smile at that. "In your language, borrowing means keeping."

She never takes her eyes off his. "You know it."

For a brief moment, they weigh the history between them. Jim relaxes. When he turns back to McCoy and Spock, he suddenly does not care what they think about Gaila in his apartment. She is important to him; always will be. He drapes his arm around her shoulders. "Bones, Spock, this lovely lady is Gaila."

She waggles her hands at them. "Hello!" Then Galia adds, as if in afterthought, "I hope my semi-nakedness didn't offend you."

Spock says evenly "It did not" as McCoy replies, slightly red-faced, "No, ma'am."

"Jim, you didn't tell me Mr. McCoy and Mr. Spock are so good-looking," pouts Gaila. She tucks herself more securely into his side.

Jim didn't tell her about them at all. Which means someone else did. Jim is beginning to suspect that she wasn't surprised to find them at his door. He looks at her, questioning, but Gaila only peers at him through her eyelashes.

Then she turns back to their guests, the picture of a polite but inquisitive hostess. "I hear you two are passing through town. How much longer do you plan to stay?" Her tone implies that the answer is of the utmost importance.

Jim simultaneously wants to retract the prying question and hear the response. Does Gaila know how... invested he is with these men?

She gently detaches herself from his side and glides to a chair to perches on the end of its seat. Jim recognizes the line of her body—the subtle, dangerous quality to it—when most men would see only a beautiful figure and long, lovely legs. Somehow Gaila _does_ know—she knows Jim is hiding in his apartment and she knows the reason has something to do with Spock and McCoy.

And she's prepared to go to war on his behalf.

He re-evaluates the coincidental timing of her arrival, drawing conclusions that leave him dumbfounded and a bit breathless.

But nobody is paying attention to him now. Gaila is focused on the two men, and they are focused on her.

"I am not entirely sure," Bones is saying.

"Really?" purrs Gaila.

Jim rarely ignores his instinct for sensing a brewing fight. "Gaila?" He reaches for her shoulder but the woman lightly slaps at his hand in warning without looking.

Leonard visibly tenses.

"No, Jim," she says, "let me talk to them. It's apparent they have no regard for your feelings." Her words are venomous, no matter how gently spoken they are.

McCoy's mouth presses into a thin line. Spock, however, is the one who answers the verbal barb. "Upon what facts do you base your assumption?" the lawyer questions her.

"Here's a fact, Mr. Spock: Jim is not a good man—he is a _great_ man. He's the guy who runs into the burning building to save the baby."

Jim groans but Gaila ignores him just as she ignores Spock's question.

She goes on to say, "There is a lot of loyalty to Kirk in this town. If you think you can hurt him and people will turn a blind eye, you're wrong. Your welcome in Riverside lasts only as long as your good intentions toward Jim."

Jim has a hand over his eyes—he's attempting not to see this particular train wreck—but he can hear McCoy perfectly well. (It's hard to cover his eyes and plug both ears at the same time with only two hands; he attempts it anyway.)

"Ma'am," and how can McCoy be so polite but cold at the same time? "I don't know where you pick up your gossip but I—neither Spock nor I— _intend_ to disrespect or hurt Jim."

Gaila jumps to her feet and Jim makes a grab for her, telling her to back off. "Stop it, Gaila, you aren't helping!"

She fists a hand in the sleeve of his shirt, long nails digging in, and fires back, "So it doesn't matter that they tear out your heart and stomp on it? How is that okay, Jim?" Gaila shrieks, "They're just like Carol!"

He instantly flinches and releases his hold on her.

Whatever she sees in his face kills her anger. "Oh, Jim, I'm sorry."

"Bones and Spock are nothing like Carol," he says flatly, needing to deny the accusation.

Gaila is absolutely still. "I'm sorry," she repeats. "Jim, I... I know how badly she hurt you." He steps back, and the rest of her words come out in a rush. "You never said you blamed her but I saw that pain in you. I saw it, baby, and I'll be damned if I stand aside while you're gettin' hurt." Her accent only thickens when she's upset.

He feels compelled to look at Bones and Spock. There is little to be read upon Spock's face but McCoy's expression is strangely tender and guilty. Jim sighs for the second time that morning. "Gaila, you should go home."

Her face crumples, and Galia says in a small voice, "Please don't hate me."

Jim gently takes her by the shoulders. "I could never hate you, Gaila." He tugs one of her red curls fondly. "And I'm very grateful to have such a fierce protector."

She shudders under his hands and laughs, though the laugh wobbles. "You know I can't help it. Nyota told me..." She trails off, but Jim has a good idea of what Nyota might have said to her friend. "What we had once, Jim," explains the redhead, "it was good but it's my fault for letting it go."

"The decision was mutual," he reminds her.

"Only because I'm a loose woman and I won't ever settle down. You need more, and we both know it." Gaila lifts her chin, daring him to deny her words, and Jim is glad to see her steady and strong again. She looks at the quiet pair on the couch. "I was foolish and gave him up. Take it to heart when I tell you not to make the same mistake."

Blushing, Jim pleads, "Are you done?"

She smoothes the edge of his t-shirt over her hips. "Yes," she says at last.

Jim loves her but he is more than happy to watch her collect her purse and walk her out the door. Gaila says nothing, only hitches her purse higher onto her shoulder, and pauses to cup his jaw. Then she kisses him lightly on the mouth, smiles, and leaves him alone.

Except, Jim remembers, he isn't alone.

Spock and McCoy are still on his couch, observing him kiss his ex, waiting. As he closes the door and locks it, it finally occurs to Jim that they had a reason for coming to his apartment. Gaila's presence and subsequent meddling had distracted Kirk from the obvious.

What do they want? What are they going to say?

He closes his eyes for a moment, clearly picturing a short one-sided conversation in which Bones states "I now realize I need Spock" and "Goodbye." Spock would say nothing. After all, why would he need to speak to Jim once he has McCoy?

Thus Jim is surprised when he turns around to find Bones standing an arm's length away, looking like he wants to beg Jim for something but doesn't know if begging would do any good.

Jim swallows past the lump in his throat and says softly, "Bones?"

McCoy breathes deeply, then unclenches one of his hands enough to offer it to Jim. Kirk stares at the hand, unsure what McCoy wants him to do.

"Jim, can you forgive me?" Bones asks.

"For what?" he returns, still staring at that empty hand. McCoy slowly lowers it back to his side at the confusion on Jim's face.

"For what I did—and for what I didn't do."

Jim shakes his head. "You don't owe me anything, Bones. Anything at all. Spock's the one followed you halfway across the U.S. He's the one who can help you get Joanna back." _He's the one who can love you._ But saying those words means Jim admits that Spock has bested him in every aspect.

"That doesn't mean you did nothing for me, Jim," says Leonard in a husky voice.

Jim sees something in Leonard's eyes that makes he seek refuge on the other side of the room. It's easier to talk to McCoy when he does not have to look the man in the face. "I get it, Bones. You want to thank me—and you're a decent guy, so you want to tell me in person that you're leaving."

"Jim—"

"Okay, I understand that. What I don't understand, though, is why _he's_ here." Jim's voice drops to a lower octave. "That's just rubbing salt in the wound, Bones."

Hands grab him. "Damn it, Jim," McCoy half-yells, "why do you always jump to conclusions!"

He pulls away from Bones' grip, now staring into brown, furious but pained eyes. "Who says I'm jumping to anything—or anyone," he retorts, words rather silly but his brain is short-circuiting, disconcerted by sensory input (the smell of Bones, the warmth of McCoy's skin) and emotional upheaval (anger, yearning, despair). "You've got Spock!"

Almost shockingly affectionate is the rejoinder "And you have got a hard head, kid." McCoy touches Jim's face— _caresses his jaw_ —and Jim loses his balance in more ways than one.

He jerks back and does the only sensible thing: he flies at Spock and latches onto the lawyer like a crazed lunatic, manhandling Spock without permission into a position that makes Spock the barrier between him and McCoy.

Apparently Leonard thinks he has lost his mind, too, because Bones asks Jim what he's doing.

The words come out of Jim, unbidden. "Protecting myself!"

Leonard opens his mouth and closes it before opening it again. "What? From me?" His expression says, _What in God's name do you think I'm going to do to you?_

Jim is discombobulated. Clutching the back of Spock's suit jacket sleeves seems to be the only thing steadying him right now.

Spock has not moved an inch or said one word of Jim's actions. He's doing that calm, _I am zen_ thing Jim really needs to learn how to do.

Leonard's eyes shift from Jim to Spock. McCoy calls the man's name. Spock replies, "Please remain where you are, Leonard."

Jim shifts so that he is directly behind Spock and can't see past him if he doesn't want to. He realizes belatedly that he is panicking.

Spock continues to talk, but not to McCoy. He is saying: "Jim, if you are willing to listen, I would like to speak with you in private."

Jim's fingers flex around the cloth of Spock's jacket but don't let go. "I was fine before you two showed up." It's possible he isn't referring to this morning but to McCoy's and Spock's appearance in Riverside.

Spock only asks, "Will you grant me a moment of your time, Mr. Kirk?"

Formality Jim can handle. He nods, and his forehead almost brushes against Spock's back. Recognizing that he is practically leaning on the man, Jim releases his hold on Spock and puts some distance between them.

"Okay," he agrees. "We'll talk."

Spock clasps his hands behind his back and turns, and Jim has an excellent side profile view of him. In the background, McCoy is quiet and clearly unnerved by these turn of events. Leonard does not interfere, however, when Spock prompts Jim to lead the way from the living room.

Not having many options, Jim closes them into his bedroom. Kirk hopes Spock does not notice when he kicks a pair of discarded briefs under his dresser to hide it. Leaning against the door and settling one hand on the doorknob (just in case), he guesses, "You just wanted to give me a chance to compose myself."

"I shall admit that was a part of my motivation." Then Spock closes the distance separating them until Jim imagines that he can feel the body heat coming off the other man. "Jim," the man begins, "I would like to explain what did—and did not—happen between Leonard and myself Friday night."

Jim closes his eyes. "I can live without the details."

"I must explain, regardless."

Jim figured as much. He says in resignation, "Tell me."


	12. Part Twelve

Jim remains with his back pressed against his closed bedroom door. Spock is near but utterly still, staring at Jim as if he can will the man to believe everything he is about to say. Jim feels like his heart might be beating unsteadily in his chest. Whether this reaction is from nerves or anticipation or simply Spock's proximity, Kirk does not know.

"Leonard was intoxicated," begins Spock, as though Jim wasn't there when Bones stumbled off the steps, completely oblivious to Jim and focused on the other man.

Normally Jim would make some sarcastic reply or a stupid joke; he can't do either so he lets the statement pass in silence.

"I assume that you witnessed Leonard's—indelicate display of affection. I was caught off guard, as I am sure you were, Jim."

Spock doesn't say he was upset about it, though, despite that Spock must also be aware of how upsetting it was for Jim. Jim simply nods for Spock to continue.

The lawyer straightens a fraction of an inch more, bearing his shoulders back like he is fortifying himself to meet a new challenge. "Leonard explained to me, albeit in a slightly convoluted manner due to his condition, that he was not indifferent to my feelings, nor to my person—"

Jim bites his lower lip and winces. Hearing this is twice as unpleasant as he had imagined.

" _Jim, look at me._ "

Jim opens his eyes, unaware that he had squeezed them shut. Swallowing hard, he apologizes, "Sorry."

Why is Spock sad? The lawyer doesn't necessarily appear sad, but Jim has the sudden sense that Spock is, deeply so. Kirk bites back a second apology, knowing Spock would not understand why if he says it.

The lawyer is grave. "I want you to understand that hearing such words from Leonard i-is an occurrence I had hoped for but considered unlikely."

"I do understand," Jim interrupts softly, "and don't think I'm not happy for you, Spock. I'm just... unhappy for myself, too."

"You should not be." Spock shifts, his arms loosening for a moment like he is thinking about reaching out; except his arms tighten back into place at the last second—hands remaining behind his back. Spock explains, "Leonard's admission of attraction was a combination of gratitude and personal revelation—the realization that he is no longer obliged to ignore his desire for men as well as women. I fear that the admission has no basis in reality and is only a result born from a substantial degree of relief."

Jim slumps against the door. "Don't be an idiot, Spock. Bones may have been three sheets to the wind, but he wouldn't have made up his feelings for you, gratitude or not. He's been repressing them."

"As he has not repressed his feelings for you?" counters the other man. Jim shakes his head in denial but Spock adds, "When Leonard touches you, the contact is too lengthy to insinuate a familial or friendly affection. When you are near but not actively engaged with Leonard, he watches you, Jim. I would continue with my observations but you have sufficient intelligence to comprehend my point."

" _He kissed you_ , Spock!" Jim instantly regrets shouting that.

Spock tilts his head as if Jim's burst of anger is intriguing. "You too have shared intimacy with Leonard."

"You don't know that."

"I do. Doctor McCoy relayed the information to me."

Jim presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "God, why would Bones tell you that?"

"I thought it foolhardy to accept the words of a drunken man. I asked Leonard for an explanation of his actions the morning following the event. We—discussed many topics. You and Leonard have kissed on two occasions but have progressed no further than kissing."

How can Spock sound so clinical about everything? Jim wonders.

Spock's mouth quirks infinitesimally but, to Jim, it quirks. "I have been duly informed that you have not even engaged in a 'make-out session,' which Leonard seems to believe is the next step in a relationship between two people."

Jim lets his hands slide down his face until he can peek at Spock from between his fingers. There is little doubt in his mind that he is as red as Gaila's lipstick. "So, are you going to punch me?"

One of those elegantly shaped eyebrows angles upward. "Why would I punch you?"

"That's usually what one guy does to the other guy trying to poach his territory. Women, though," Jim tacks on, "scratch and bite and pull hair. If you could, punch me. Please don't pull my hair."

"I will do neither, as I am not inclined to violence at this moment."

"Oh." Jim drops his hands to his sides. "That's good, I guess."

"Indeed."

Jim decides it is safe to step away from the door. Spock does not back up or move to grant him more space. The action inevitably brings much closer together. Jim looks up, not realizing until now that Spock is so tall, topping Kirk by a good two inches. Of course, he's never been this close to Spock for this long a period of time either.

He asks, deciding that he would rather know the truth than never know at all, "Did you... did you take him to bed?"

"I lent Leonard the use of my room so that he might sleep away the effects of inebriation, if that is what you wish to hear." Spock knows what Jim is asking.

"So, you didn't sleep together?"

Spock measures Kirk for a moment. "Under other circumstances, I might have considered it, Jim."

 _Can't blame a man for that_ , Jim thinks. Jim won't act like he has better control, because he most certainly does not. Having Bones all over him like that, even drunk, would have driven Kirk crazy with need—Spock nearby or not. "Was it because of me, then, that you didn't?"

"In a way, yes. I found that I was disconcerted by your absence—and its implications." Spock's voice deepens briefly. "It would have been unkind to take advantage of your trust."

Jim is startled. "Trust?"

"You trust that we will, as a team, find a solution to McCoy's problem. I hope for this also. Therefore to allow Leonard to choose either of us at this point in time, no matter the manner of the choosing, will create a distinct unbalance between us."

Jim is struck speechless. _Spock is saying—he had assumed—but what about—?_

Then, without warning, the storm of thought disperses, leaving behind a quiet calm. Jim has a clear understanding of everything. "Spock," he says huskily, "you don't have to—give up your chance with Bones. I would never ask you to do that."

"I know," responds the lawyer and Jim's stomach has a funny tickly feeling at the certainty in Spock's voice.

Spock says, in light of Jim's silence, "I will not deny that I desire a future with Leonard, and I am aware that you share this desire. We will come an agreement in due time, Jim. For now, perhaps, it is better to focus on other details and allow time to help us sort out what we want and what we do not."

Jim feels inexplicably weak, a bit lightheaded, as though he has pulled through a long illness. Spock is not going to run away with Bones—or allow Bones to run away with him.

"And Bones is okay with this?" he asks, needing this last confirmation.

"Yes."

Hesitating only a second, Jim says thickly but firmly, "I'm going to hug you now, Spock."

Spock doesn't object so Jim carefully leans in to cover the distance between them, making a quiet, inarticulate noise when his hand connects with Spock's shirt front. Then Jim sighs, throwing caution to the wind, and wraps his arms around Spock's shoulders. He keeps the hug brief—because, really, this is Spock Jim is hugging and Spock might have been his arch-nemesis at one point—but to Jim's surprise, when Jim pulls away, Spock's hand removes itself from the back of Kirk's neck, where it had lightly settled.

Jim rocks back on his heels, feeling better than he has in days. Feeling like he has a chance to be happy again. "Do you mind staying in here for a minute longer?"

"You wish to prolong the suspense Leonard is experiencing."

"Yup."

"Very well." Spock's voice is bland as he suggests, "You might pass the next minute by retrieving your undergarment beneath the dresser and placing it in the appropriate hamper."

Jim considers hiding under his bed but that would only heighten his embarrassment, and possibly cause Spock to rethink Jim's suitability as a co-conspirator. "I haven't had time to go to the laundromat," Kirk manages in his defense.

"Ah," replies the lawyer, saying no more.

They get distracted when Spock, casually perusing Jim's book collection, gently extracts the enormous volume of Wolfram's _A New Kind of Science_ and proceeds to express his surprise that Kirk owns such a book. Jim, a man who loves every book on his shelf for varying reasons, quizzes Spock on the spot about continuous cellular automaton by rule 184—whereupon Spock answers perfectly, going so far as to mention that the yield is a regular nested pattern. Their discussion spans from there, about the book, Stephan Wolfram's genius in general, and Jim demanding to know why Spock knows so much science, loves it, and yet became a lawyer. Spock begins to explain something about his father's political career and a family legacy when a pounding on the bedroom door snaps both Kirk and Spock back to the situation at hand.

Jim opens the door with an "Oops, sorry, Bones" and a puppy dog look that he hopes McCoy will fall for.

Leonard pushes past Jim and folds his arms, glaring at Spock like Spock is at fault for their memory lapse. Spock only says, "Leonard."

McCoy glances sidelong at Jim. "I decided y'all were either asleep or dead, since I haven't heard a peep in thirty minutes."

Jim knocks on the wood of the door. "Solid oak, almost soundproof. We were just talking, Bones."

Leonard returns to staring at Spock. "Is everything okay now?"

"Jim is no longer hyperventilating."

"Hey," interrupts Jim, indignant. "I wasn't—"

"You were," McCoy tells him. "A little bit. Sorry I spooked you, kid."

Jim shrugs. "Apology accepted."

"Is it?" asks Leonard very softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Jim."

Jim nods, looking away. He knows that, he does. "I tried to tell Spock it was okay—I'm not angry. Shit, Bones, you know I can't be angry."

"Doesn't mean you can't be hurtin'."

Jim shrugs, lying through his teeth. "I'd get over it."

Leonard is silent for a long moment. He confesses, quietly sincere enough to make Jim flinch, "I wouldn't."

Spock steps away from Jim's desk, drawing their attention and effectively cutting short an awkward moment. He announces, "It is five minutes until 9:30."

Leonard blanches. "Ah hell. We'll miss breakfast."

Jim looks between them, clearly missing something. "What's the problem with missing breakfast?"

Leonard mutters too lowly to be heard but Spock replies, "Your mother."

Jim stares for a moment longer before comprehending. Then he grimaces. "She ordered you here."

McCoy explains, "We were coming over anyway, but she caught us before we could get out of the diner and said she expects us—all three of us—back before Sulu finishes serving breakfast."

Jim is digging through his closet by the time Leonard finishes talking. He slings a pair of clean jeans over his shoulder and a t-shirt. Heading for the bathroom, he says, "I'll be out in five. We'll make it."

"And if we don't?" is McCoy's question, muffled as Jim shuts the bathroom door.

Jim looks into the mirror over the sink, seeing a man with stubble attempting to become a beard and eyes no longer dulled by an emotion akin to grief staring back at him. "Then we're in deep shit," he tells his reflection—and laughs.

~~~

They enter The Diner three minutes until 10 am. Jim catches his mother's eyes across the room, but her look is only a quick appraisal. Jim directs the two men with him to a booth, knowing that it won't be long before Winona comes over to assess him with a mother's thoroughness. Spock sits on the inside next to Jim and Bones sits opposite of them both.

Surprisingly, it's Pavel who bounds up to the table, full of more energy in the morning than Jim has felt in years. "Hello," beams the young man. Pavel's eyes alight on Jim. "Hikaru said you were coming today! Where have you been, Jim?"

Jim goes for a half-truth. "I had some things to sort out first. Long days at the garage."

Pavel accepts this answer readily enough.

Jim asks, "How is _everyone?_ " putting plenty of emphasis on 'everyone.' Pavel's eyes widen in comprehension.

"Good, good," says Chekov. "Everyone— _in the kitchen_ —is good!"

Jim nods. He pulls out a jump rope from his jacket pocket, glad he had had the foresight to grab it on the way out of his apartment earlier. "Here. This is for you— _in the kitchen_." He winks.

Pavel takes it gingerly and says, "Thank you. I will bring you water."

"Coffee!" calls McCoy to Pavel's retreating back. Then Leonard leans on the table and asks, "What was that about?"

"What?" asks Kirk, shedding his jacket and simultaneously identifying the other customers in the diner without being obvious about it.

Leonard snaps his fingers in front of Jim's face. "Hey, Earth to Jim!"

Jim slouches comfortably. "What, Bones?"

"The jump rope?"

"For Pavel?"

McCoy snorts. "Yeah right. The cook's not going to say a word while Pavel skips rope in the kitchen? Nice try."

"It's a gift," Jim says. "I'm honor-bound not to say anything else."

Jim sees the moment Leonard makes the connection—probably remembering the little girl playing around the motel. McCoy lets the subject drop.

“Good morning,” Winona Kirk greets them as she walks up to their booth and flips to a new page of her pad.

"Morning, Mom."

"Jim." Winona doesn't look up from her pad, and Jim has a sudden, crystal-clear idea of how much trouble he is in.

But why should _he_ be in trouble?

Winona is talking. "Pavel will bring you coffee—and tea for Mr. Spock, of course. What else would you like?"

Leonard is picking at the tabletop, eyes downcast. Jim turns to Spock, who is studying a spot with intensity somewhere off to the side.

Jim sighs mentally, not surprised that they expect him to go toe-to-toe with his mother. She's not _that_ terrifying! Nevertheless, he can't smack either of them without earning a smack from his mother in retaliation.

He turns his brightest, broadest grin on Winona. "A bagel and cream cheese?"

"Toast and butter," says his mother as she scribbles this on her pad.

He frowns. "And, um, Bones will have an onion and bellpepper omelette?"

Leonard dares to flick his gaze to Jim's and nod in confirmation before going back to staring at the table.

"Mm. One scrambled egg." Winona writes this down diligently.

Jim protests, "No, an omelette—"

She finally looks at him—just looks at him. Jim sinks into his seat a little. He finishes their order with "Whatever Spock's allowed to have."

"A grapefruit."

No one complains. As Winona tucks her pen into her apron and turns away, Jim mutters, "I didn't _do_ anything."

Winona turns back. McCoy kicks Jim under the table.

They wait until Winona tires of staring them down and leaves—which is a good number of seconds—before breathing again. Leonard plants his face into his hands. Jim knocks over the sugar container. Spock straightens an errant cuff-link.

Pavel comes back with two mugs of coffee and a cup of tea. Together he and Jim clean up the spilled sugar while McCoy downs half of his black coffee, only pausing to grimace afterward that he didn't sweeten it.

Leaning in and lowering his voice, Pavel asks Jim, "Vhat did you do?"

McCoy overrides Jim's "Nothing!" with "He skipped Sunday lunch."

"I told her I wasn't going to be there!"

McCoy eyes Jim. "And did you have brains enough to at least call her on Sunday, even if you weren't going to show up?" Leonard sets down his mug. "Jim, I get why you haven't talked to me or _seen_ me in the last week—but why on God's green earth would you alienate yourself from your family and friends?"

Jim clenches his jaw. "Why did you think you had to hide in a motel in Iowa?"

McCoy says nothing.

Pavel backs up from the table, clutching a cleaning rag. "I think—Hikaru needs me." The kitchen door is left swinging as Chekov dashes through it, disappearing into the relative safety of the kitchen.

"Arguing is pointless," Spock remarks from his corner of the booth, where (Jim muses) Spock could easily keep quiet and no one would notice him.

"So says the lawyer," quips McCoy, a mocking curl to his mouth.

"In this instance, yes. Neither you nor Jim will gain victory over the other when you are in equal difficulty by your actions."

Leonard stabs a finger across the table at Spock. "Don't you dare step on your soapbox, Spock! If I want preachin', I'll go to church!"

"I highly doubt a sermon would improve your disposition, Leonard."

As Bones sputters, Jim stifles a laugh and busies himself with fitting as much cream and sugar into his coffee mug as possible without making the liquid sluice down the sides. If necessary, he can always call his mother over. That will shut them up quickly.

But Jim finds he likes the sound of their banter.

Sipping at his much-lightened coffee, Jim lets his gaze track his mother to the kitchen window. Spock and McCoy—arguing still—drop to background noise when Winona looks around to meet his eyes. He smiles at her, not the trembling kind of smile, not the liar's smile, but soft and genuine and _I'm better_.

She studies him for a long moment, then her face relaxes. He notes that when Winona grabs their plates from the window, she puts two packets of apple jelly next to his toast and butter.

They'll be all right, he knows. And if Leonard and Spock behave well, Jim might be able to talk his mother into lifting their meal restrictions for dinner. He clears his throat, catching the attention of the men with him and says, "Food's coming."

Leonard sits back, placing his napkin in his lap. He looks at Jim and confesses, "I'm glad you're here, Jim."

Jim holds those more-green-than-brown eyes a second or two, observing Leonard's honesty, and responds with a nod.

Leonard glances next to Jim. "Spock, you want to...?" Whatever McCoy intends to convey with his hand gesture, Spock instantly understands.

Spock turns to Jim. "I have found a house to rent which meets my requirements."

Despite their talk, despite that living in a bed-and-breakfast isn't meant to be a permanent situation, Jim uncurls his hand from his mug in shock and reaches for Spock, only to abort the gesture when he realizes what he is doing. "You're leaving the farm?" he asks in surprise.

"Yes." Spock's look is inquisitive, a question of _why would this be unexpected?_

"Jim." McCoy takes his hand instead and squeezes it. "He's not leaving Riverside, Jim—just got himself a bigger place, with an office for work."

"Work?" Jim repeats dumbly. He almost jumps when Winona sets his plate down next to him. He had forgotten about her, about the food.

Winona Kirk hands Leonard his scrambled eggs and asks Spock, "Do you intend to practice in Riverside, Mr. Spock?"

Spock replies courteously, "I will be available should any person have need of my services."

Jim looks at Winona and Winona looks at him. "Harry isn't going to like that," she says like it's an observation of the weather.

"Who's Harry?" Leonard wants to know.

Jim scratches the back of his head. "Harcourt Mudd. Pretty much Riverside's only lawyer."

"An uncommon attribute of this town," inputs Mr. Spock.

Winona answers the unspoken question: "Mr. Mudd is backed by the Q. Aspiring lawyers find it easier—" _and safer_ , they all hear that in her voice, "—to practice where they won't warrant the attention of the Q."

"I'm not liking the sound of the Q. What are they? A gang? Mafia?" Leonard appears both curious and apprehensive.

Jim can't blame him. Riverside seems nice on the surface but it has its criminal undercurrents like any other city in America. "The Q are the oldest family in Riverside. They, well—they aren't people you want to piss off. They won't mind ruining your life. Trust me on that."

"You must be careful, Mr. Spock," Winona tells the lawyer.

Because Spock isn't likely to, Jim pats her hand. "It'll be fine, Mom."

Her expression is dubious but resigned. Then she eyes their table and pulls out her pad. "People will be coming in for lunch soon. You should try some of the lemon meringue before it's gone." Winona ends whatever note she is writing with a flourish.

Jim isn't dumb enough to say no. Apparently neither is Leonard or Spock. Satisfied, Winona leaves them to their meager breakfast—and the promise of pie.


	13. Part Thirteen

“Jim. Jim!”

Kirk stops walking, turning. Christine Chapel hurries up to him, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. Her smile is uncertain. “I almost thought you were ignoring me.”

“Don’t be crazy, Chapel. What’s up?” He takes her heavy-looking shopping bag and lets her loop her arm through his. She tells him that her car is parked two streets over.

Christine’s hand tightens on his forearm, just enough that Jim slows down their pace to signify that he is listening. “I wanted to apologize about Leonard.”

“Why?” Jim asks, making an effort to appear unaffected at the mention of Bones.

“Well, he was pretty sloshed when Nyota and I left him at your mom’s. I swear we wouldn’t have done that but he wouldn’t let up about going to the farm.” She laughs lightly at a memory. “He refused to get out of the car when we took him to his motel. Nyota tried threatening him with the heel of her boot. The stubborn jackass wouldn’t budge.”

Despite himself, Jim chuckles at the image. “Either he was incredibly drunk or incredibly stupid not to take Uhura seriously.”

“I’m going for both. She hasn’t let him off the hook for that yet, either.”

Kirk mutters, “Good for her.”

They pass the corner drugstore and turn onto Third Ave. At the crossing light, Jim is about to ask Christine if she is free for lunch (as this must be her day off) when Chapel says first, “It’s sad about Leonard’s daughter, isn’t it?”

Jim almost halts in the middle of the street but Christine tugs on his arm, prompting him to get out of the way of oncoming traffic. He quickly pulls her over by the bus bench to ask, “How do you know about Joanna?”

She gives him a strange look. “He showed me a picture of her when I complimented him on being good with small children. Jim, what’s wrong?”

His heart had decided to pound its way out of his chest, but Kirk quickly manages to get himself under control. Her explanation is a sweet relief. “Nothing. I just—Bones is usually wary of talking about his family.”

Christine’s expression says she knows he is telling the truth but she also doesn’t know why he is sidestepping the answer to her question. “Okay.” She reaches for her bag. “My car isn’t far...”

Jim prudently places the bag behind his back and smiles innocently.

Christine rolls her eyes. “You win. Onwards then—across the stormy seas, Captain Kirk!”

Jim sighs ruefully as they resume walking. “I’m too old to play pirates.” Obviously Nyota isn’t too shy to share her and Jim’s adventures as children. He hopes Uhura didn’t mention the pirate outfits they concocted.

The twinkle in Christine’s eyes says she did and had Polaroid snapshots as sufficient proof. He tries not to flush at the thought. Time to blackmail Uhura into giving them back—or destroying the evidence, at the very least.

Jim switches topics in hopes of diversion. “How’s Bones doing at the clinic?”

“Well, actually. A lot of the patients like him... when he isn’t stepping on someone’s toes and saying he’s a doctor and doctors know best. Janice gets to soothe nerves and dry tears today.” She sounds much too gleeful about that prospect.

Jim muses, “Mark isn’t like McCoy, is he?”

“No,” she agrees. “Dr. Piper is wonderful but he’s very laid-back. Maybe he was like Leonard when he was younger.”

Jim shakes his head. “Naw. I’d remember that. No matter how many times he had to patch me up, he never fussed at me about it—he let my mom handle that bit.” Jim smiles, contemplating what he knows about Leonard McCoy. “Bones is a yeller, definitely.”

Christine advises, “Then stay away from trouble and McCoy won’t have a reason to fuss at you.”

“I do try,” he insists dryly.

They find Christine’s car with relative ease. Jim hands her the shopping bag. She squeezes his hand in return. “Thanks, Jim.”

“It’s okay, you know,” he tells Chapel. “About that night, I mean. We got Bones bedded down. No harm done.” He feels only slightly guilty for lying.

Christine opens her car door and tosses her bag into the backseat. But she doesn’t get in immediately. Instead she says in an offhanded manner, “He kept saying he needed to make amends with Spock.”

Jim’s smile tightens. “He did, I think.”

She hesitates. “That’s not what... that didn’t bother me, Jim, except make me curious.” Christine meets his eyes. “But Leonard talked about you, too.” She blushes for a moment. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything...”

Jim swallows. “What did he say?”

“He said you were under his skin and he didn’t know how get you out. Nyota told him you had that effect on a lot of people, and Leonard just—well, he said ‘This is different.’ He said, ‘This is good.’ Jim,” Christine almost begs, “you’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“I’m fine,” he says, feeling like a broken record by now.

She shakes her head. “Not just for yourself—for Leonard, too. When I broke off my engagement with Roger, I felt so vulnerable. I know Leonard must feel the same way, coming out of a nasty divorce.”

Jim reaches out and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, warmed by her concern. “I’ll be careful,” he promises.

Christine gets into her car and starts it, waving goodbye as she drives away. Jim slides his hands into his jacket pockets and returns to the downtown area to finish his errands.

~~~

Luckily, his next encounter is with someone who has more to worry about than Jim’s budding relationship with Leonard McCoy. Kirk notes a crowd by the Town Hall and joins them out of curiosity. Bob Wesley and his campaign crew are handing out Vote For Wesley buttons and doing a mingle-and-greet with the crowd. Jim watches the event for a minute, entertained, before attempting to wander back to the nearby auto-parts store.

At the last second, Jim is hooked by a hand on his sleeve, turned around, and reeled in for a handshake.

The mayor says smartly, “Running off again, Jimmy?”

He grins. “Me and politics, Bob—a bad combination.”

Wesley barks out a laugh and drops a firm hand onto Kirk’s shoulder. Someone to the side says, “Mayor Wesley! Smile!” Bob winks for the camera and Jim is dazed by a flash of light. It takes several blinks to clear his whitened vision.

Jim winces. “I hope that isn’t going on the front page of the Press.”

“If your eyes are closed, son, I’ll make sure that it does.”

Jim gives the man a sharp, amused look. “Then I'll be forced to play dirty, Mr. Mayor, and the Press might receive an anonymous submission of a particular set of photos...”

Bob is not intimidated in the least. “There are plenty of photos of me flitting around this town, Jimmy. I _am_ the mayor.”

“Ah,” says Kirk with a devious glint in his eyes, “but have the townspeople ever seen you in a hulu skirt while attempting to woo a certain lovely widow?”

Wesley stares at Jim. “How did you—but that was—"

Jim’s evil laugh is inspired by too many cartoons as a child. “Never turn your back on an eight year-old, Bob,” Jim advises.

With a long-suffering sigh, Bob shoos him away. “Get away from my campaign, Kirk.”

Jim salutes the mayor, snapping smartly, “Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!”

At least Wesley manages not to smack him in public, even if most of Riverside wouldn’t fault the man one bit for belting James Kirk. After all, Wesley is famous but Jim is infamous.

As Jim strides away, his ears catch the question, “Mayor Wesley, do you have words for your opponent in the race to election?” and Bob’s answer, “Only to the public, my dear, when I say I hope the people of Riverside see how inexperienced Trelane is—"

Then Kirk is out of range, the noises of the street covering up what little left there is to hear.

~~~

Close to midnight, Jim is awoken by someone beating on his apartment door. He is groggy, stumbles over a pair of tennis shoes on his way to answer the insistent knocks. The person calls, “Police! Is anyone home?”

That snaps Jim from sleepy to alert in a heartbeat. He unlocks the door and opens it hastily. “Um, hello, Officer. What’s going on?”

The police officer shines a flashlight in his face. “We had a report of a possible prowler in this complex.” The man pulls out a notepad. “You are…?”

“Jim Kirk.”

The man writes this down. “Have you heard or seen anything suspicious in the last few hours, Mr. Kirk?”

“No,” he answers. “I was asleep. You woke me up.”

No apology seems forth-coming. “Have you noticed signs of an attempted break-in? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“Would you mind if I came in and took a look around?”

Jim’s hand flexes on the doorknob. “I need to see some ID.”

The man extricates a badge from his shirt pocket without hesitation. Jim battles down nervousness and reads it, looking for signs that it’s a fake. He can’t find any. He hands the badge back to the officer. “I’m sorry, Deputy Johnson. I’m not comfortable having you in my home at this time of night.”

Before the man can reply, a familiar voice snaps, “Johnson!”

Johnson half-turns, tucking his pen and notepad away. “Yes, Sir?”

Rand—good old, fucking Rand, Jim thinks—catches sight of Kirk in the doorway. He doesn’t look pleased to be at the Appletree Apartments at midnight. “This man giving you trouble, Deputy?”

“No, Sir” is the bemused reply, at which Jim secretly thanks the heavens. That is, until Rand grimly steps up beside Johnson and plants his hand against Jim’s partially open door.

Frank stares at Jim for a long moment. “It’s a federal offense to mislead the law, Kirk.”

Jim sees red. After several seconds, he is under control enough to speak, albeit coldly, “Go away, Frank. I’m too tired to play games with you right now. I have work in the morning.”

Rand’s mouth curls in a sneer. “Well, excuse us for interrupting your beauty sleep, you—" He bites off whatever vulgar thing he was going to call Jim. With hard eyes, Frank says, “Prank or not, Kirk, I have a job to do. Are you alone?”

“Yes,” he says flatly.

The other deputy shifts his weight, obviously uncomfortable with this silent stand-off between Kirk and Rand.

At last, Frank backs down. “Sorry for keeping you,” not meaning a word of his apology. “Let’s go,” Rand says to his partner.

Jim watches them leave, making sure they are gone, before closing and locking his door. He pauses, then drags a chair over and shoves it under the doorknob for good measure. Unfortunately, it takes hours before he can fall asleep again; but when the dawn comes he is glad to see light in the sky. There’s something about meeting Rand in the dark that makes Jim’s stomach twist into knots.

He mentions the sentiment to Jose the next day. Jose only looks at him before asking, “You gotta gun, _chico?_ ”

“No.”

“You know how to shoot a gun?”

Jim nods. “Yeah. My mom taught me.”

Jose looks at him for a moment longer. “If you need a weapon,” Jose offers, “I have plenty you can borrow.”

Jim has only ever used his fists as weapons against another person but he stops to consider the idea. “Maybe,” he concedes, mostly cringing at the thought.

Jose tosses him a rag, says, “Rotate the tires on the Mazda” and they speak of it no more.

~~~

Bones catches Jim on lunch break, surprising him by showing up at the garage with fast food in hand. Jose pokes his head out of his office to assess Leonard McCoy, whereupon Jim feels obliged to introduce the two men. Jim’s boss grabs his jacket from an old coat rack and tells Jim that he is going to grab his own lunch. It’s a cue that Jose is going to leave them alone but also a warning that he won’t be far away.

Jim rolls his eyes and herds Leonard into the small office. They pull out chairs and Jim props his feet on the corner of Jose's messy desk. He takes a satisfyingly large bite of his burger. After a moment of eating, Jim asks, “How did you get here?”

“Christine dropped me off.”

Jim nods, deciding Bones doesn’t need to know how recently he spoke with Chapel—or what they discussed. Instead he ponders, “Aren’t you tired of hitching rides?”

Leonard looks away. “I’m used to it.” He says faintly, “I don’t drive much.”

Jim almost chokes on a french fry. “Shit, Bones... you have a driver’s license, right?”

McCoy shoots him a glare instead of saying outright _you’re an idiot_. “Yes, Jim. I have a driver’s license.”

Jim frowns, then asks tentatively, “DUI?”

“God, no.” Leonard isn’t offended by the question, for which Jim is grateful.

“Then why?” he wants to know.

Leonard carefully places his burger on the desk, like the thought of eating suddenly makes him sick. When he turns to meet Jim’s curious stare, Jim sucks in a breath at the look in McCoy’s eyes. “Bones?”

“I was driving my dad to his bingo match—he played bingo like an addict." Leonard's laugh is mirthless. “We were blindsided by some idiot who ran a red light. Dad died.”

“Oh geez,” Jim says, planting his feet back on the floor, his food forgotten. “Bones, I’m sorry.”

Leonard frowns and absently runs his fingers through the condensation covering his soda can. “He stayed in a coma for a while—before we had to let him go. I can’t get behind the wheel without remembering the accident, so I don’t drive unless I have to.” He grimaces. “Jocelyn and I fought about that a lot. Just another issue that wedged us apart, I guess.”

Jim resists the urge to pull Bones in for a hug. He offers, “I’ll take you wherever you need to go. No problem.”

That seems to shake Leonard from his morose thoughts. The man snorts. “You think being in a car is dangerous? Shit, you and that motorcycle are _terrifying_.”

Jim knows how to play this game. “I don’t remember you complaining.”

“That’s because you can’t hear anything over the damn wind in your ears.”

“I can buy you your own helmet.”

“Seriously, Jim,” scoffs McCoy.

“Seriously, Bones.” Jim’s eyes are bright and challenging.

Leonard's smile is slow and genuine. “Fine. Sometimes. Whenever I’m desperate.”

Jim pushes Leonard’s burger encouragingly in his direction. Leonard picks it and settles back in his chair, content to finish the food.

Jim does the same, saying, “Whether you’re desperate or not, you’ve got me, Bones.”

“I know” is Leonard’s soft reply.

~~~

“This is... this is something,” Jim remarks as he trails from one room to the next. _It’s a freaking mansion_ he means but Jim is valiantly trying for polite and not gobsmacked.

Spock appears at his side, close to the curve of the staircase. “This home is approximately 6500 square feet.”

Jim feels a bit woozy. 6500 square feet for a house? He jokes awkwardly, “I can’t imagine a month’s rent.”

“It is affordable,” says the lawyer, like money doesn’t really matter.

Jim punches down envy. He and Spock are not the same, have obviously not grown up accustomed to similar lifestyles. How silly, to be jealous. Kirk rubs a hand against his denim-covered thigh and decides to direct his attention elsewhere. “Bones?”

“I believe he is inspecting the backyard.”

With the pool. Right.

Jim picks a direction, hoping he is headed the right way, and strides down a hallway. Spock follows him, allowing Jim to discover the way on his own, even though Jim has the feeling Spock as this entire house mapped out in his gigantic brain.

He stops by a door at the end of the hallway, near the kitchen, and asks, “Where’s this go?”

“The garage.”

Finally, a place Jim is more familiar with. Glancing at Spock for permission, he lets himself into the garage—which is bare, except for the shelving along one wall and a wooden table. The owner must have had an extensive tool set. Jim finds that he longs to fill in the sadly vacant spots for wrenches and hammers and screwdrivers. In his mind’s eye, the table would be scattered with the things of his trade, bike equipment, rags and car parts...

Jim gasps a little, rounding on Spock. “The car!”

Spock returns his stare with mild interest. “The car, Jim?”

“ _Your_ car, the Corvette—" Jim stops fumbling for words.

“Ah,” states the other man. “I have not, as of yet, had an opportunity to speak with your employer. Do you require another check for the repair expenses?”

Jim shakes his head. “You’re, um, first advance is still good.” Then he can’t help but grin slightly. “You realize it’s unusual to pay us upfront, right?”

“I anticipated that the repairs will be expensive. You may provide me with the receipts for your purchases, if you wish, but I think it unnecessary. Your place of work has a solid reputation, Mr. Kirk. Should I assume otherwise?”

Of course Spock would investigate Jose and the garage before handing over a lengthy and expensive job. Why hadn’t Jim realized that before?

“Nope,” he answers, turning. “Jose’s an honest guy.”

Spock is saved the trouble of replying by Bones’ loud “Jim? Spock?”

“In the garage!” Jim calls back.

McCoy appears in the doorway, leans against it and folds his arms. His expression is amused. “There’s a koi pond to the side of the front yard.”

“The owners have an affinity for the Orient,” Spock informs his house guests.

“Which explains the miniature Buddhist altar in the garden,” McCoy returns dryly.

Apparently Jim has not seen half of the treasures this property has hidden away. “Did it come furnished?” he asks Spock.

Leonard snorts. “'Course it did! Spock can’t be bothered to decide between a loveseat and a chaise lounge. God forbid!” chuckles the long-time friend of Spock’s. “He may be rich, but he’s also totally uninterested in anything that doesn’t ooze logic or glow under a microscope or speak in seven tongues.”

Jim’s mouth runs away from his brain. “Does that mean you can speak in seven tongues, Bones?”

Leonard bursts out laughing. “Shut up.”

Jim grins like a fool.

Ignoring them, Spock activates the garage door opener and proceeds down the driveway to the mailbox. Jim glances at McCoy and decides to follow Spock. He isn’t surprised to hear Bones’ footsteps behind him.

Spock stands by the mailbox looking west. He asks Jim, when the man is close enough to hear, “This neighborhood caters to the affluent of Riverside, does it not?”

“Yeah,” says Jim. He points in the direction that Spock is staring. “The mayor lives close by, maybe ten blocks that way.” He adds to Leonard behind him, “I told you, Bones. He’s got the biggest house in Riverside. Can’t miss it.”

The frown on McCoy’s face is obvious in his voice. “But you made the Q sound pretty damned wealthy. Wouldn’t they have the biggest house?”

Jim hesitates. “More like a compound. They’re strange, Bones—and they don’t accept outsiders.”

“A cult?”

Jim huffs. “You think Riverside is home to a _cult?_ ”

“Well, you’re a funny lot—"

Jim turns around and punches Leonard’s arm. “Careful, Bones. Don’t insult my people.”

McCoy’s mouth twitches. “Your people, huh?”

Jim tries to look affronted but it’s hard to ignore the tickling of laughter in his throat. “The good ones, anyway,” he retorts.

“It appears I am to be welcomed to the neighborhood,” Spock interrupts.

Jim shades his eyes against the afternoon sun. Spying the model of the car coming towards them, he drops his hand and curses silently. “Spock, c’mon let’s go—"

But Spock is like a statue, immovable stone under Jim’s hand. Perhaps McCoy senses Jim’s unease. Leonard flanks the other side of Spock.

The car—a convertible, ridiculously bright pink with white leather interior—coasts to a stop by the driveway and three men. A gum-popping blonde in the passenger seat waggles her fingers at them and giggles. The driver, a rotund mustached man in a track suit and large sunglasses, smiles solicitously. “Well, hello there. Hello, indeed!” Then the man takes off his sunglasses and rolls his eyes at Kirk. “Not you, of course, Jamey-boy. Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

Jim smiles insincerely. “Because I’m everywhere?” he counters, a biting quality to the words.

The young woman turns in her seat to get a better look at Jim. Her lips curve to say that she likes what she sees. Harry notices his companion’s response and an aggravated look flits across his face. “And still insolent as ever,” the man remarks. “But how rude of me! I’m not here to chat with you, Kirk.” His attention is back to Spock. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Harcourt Fenton Mudd, humble attorney at law and entrepreneur—and you are Mr. Spock!”

“I am aware of who you are, Mr. Mudd.”

Mudd frowns at Spock’s cool reply. “Harry, please. To all the citizens of Riverside—new and old—I am simply Harry.”

At Spock’s lack of response, Harry fiddles with his sunglasses in a strangely unsettled gesture before sliding them back onto his nose. “Yes, well, I just came by to say hello. Mr. Spock, Kirk...” He seems to realize there is a third person. “Oh, I don’t know you.”

“Leonard McCoy,” drawls Bones. “Definitely of the ‘new’ variety, Mr. Mudd.”

“Harry. My apologies, Mr. McCoy.”

“ _Doctor_ McCoy” Harry is corrected.

“Of course. Doctor. Well, good day to you, gentlemen!” Rather than leaving, however, Mudd leans toward them, tugging at his mustache. “Are you a gambling man, Mr. Spock?”

“I do not gamble, Sir.”

“Pity, pity,” murmurs Harry. “Come by my casino anyway! First time, you get ten free chips—courtesy of Harry Mudd!”

The girl in the passenger seat sighs like she’s bored and goes back to painting her nails now that she doesn’t have to pretend interest in this meeting of friendly neighbors (and because Jim is ignoring her). The pink convertible pulls back onto the street and disappears around a curve in the road, leaving a bad taste in Jim's mouth.

Leonard says, “That could have been worse.”

“Harry isn’t the one you have to worry about,” Kirk remarks ominously. He returns to the house, not waiting for Spock and McCoy to catch up.

If Harry knows that Spock lives here, then the Q most certainly know. Jim closes the curtains in the living room, but he is unable to shake the feeling that eyes are still trained on them, watching them with interest. Quietly, for now.


	14. Part Fourteen

Jim hurries into the clinic, grease still lining the beds of his fingernails, and demands to Mrs. Riley at the front desk, “Jan—”

She sees his alarmed expression and is quick to reassure him. “Oh, Jim! No, everything’s fine. Didn’t Dr. McCoy tell you...?"

“He said I had to get over here sooner rather than later,” Jim almost snaps but catches himself and lowers his voice, straining to be gentle. “Bones didn't explain the details.”

“Oh you poor thing,” Janice says, coming around the desk. She is trying for soothing but looks uncertain about touching him or hugging him. “You can toss any thoughts of horror out your head, Jim,” she tells him. “Nobody’s hurt or dying, I swear it.”

Hearing her sincerity, something untwists inside Jim and he has to brace his legs to keep from swaying with relief. “Then why am I here?” he wants to know.

“Second exam room. Go on, you know where it is.”

Jim steps around her, ignoring the curious attention of the people in the waiting area. Entering the middle examination room situated along a curve in the hallway holds its own surprise. Jim softly closes the door, pushing away his immediate shock, and asks, “Scotty, are you sick?”

Montgomery Scott struggles into an upright position from where he had been dozing on the patient’s bed. “Waa? J-Jim?”

He drags the man the rest of the way up and takes a long look at him. Scotty is less bedraggled than usual, someone having made him wash his face and hands (and possibly scrub behind his ears). He is wearing a white, paper-thin gown typical for a physical examination, his clothes nowhere to be seen.

“Scotty,” Jim asks again, “are you okay?”

The man nods. “I was mindin’ me own business when some crazy man shined a light in ma eyes and made me come here. Weren’t the police,” adds Scotty, bemused. Then, with a bit more indignation, “I’m not a child to be prodded neither! He poked at me, Jim.”

Jim pats him. “And this man was a doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“With a really big frown and a kind of rude disposition and prone to cussing?”

“Yeah, that’d be him.”

“Then you’ve met Doctor Leonard McCoy. I call him Bones,” Jim says proudly.

Scotty absently scratches at his gown, then seems to realize he is still wearing it. He looks around, confused. “Where’re ma clothes, Jim?”

“I don’t know, Scotty. Can you hang here another minute? I will look for them.” _And find Bones._

“Got nowhere to be,” remarks the man. But the way he flushes tells Jim that Scotty is aware of what will happen to him if he tries to vacate this room without explicit permission from the Riverside Medical staff.

Maybe Scotty has already tried escape once, Jim muses, and failed.

Jim pats his shoulder again and exits the exam room. Bones is standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and smirking.

“You freaked me out,” Jim says pointedly. “I think I broke seven traffic laws on the way here.”

Bones doesn’t look sorry at all. “I asked Mr. Scott who he wanted to come get him and he said Jim Kirk.” McCoy shrugs. “So Jim Kirk it is.”

Jim takes a second to process that information. “Really?”

“Really,” replies the doctor dryly. “Surprised me, too. His file says he has a living relative, so I thought I’d give her a call but the man looked ready to jump out of his skin when I mentioned his mother as an alternative.”

“She’s not well,” Jim says.

Leonard’s look is shrewd. “What kind of ‘not well’?”

“The cancerous kind.”

McCoy is perfectly still. “Shit. Didn’t see that in her file. Hell, I didn’t see a file for her, period.”

“That’s because she and Mark aren’t... on good terms anymore. Scotty’s dad had an accident at work, it was fatal, and she blamed Mark for not being able to save him.”

McCoy nods in understanding. “Grief really hurts people, makes ‘em irrational sometimes.”

Jim shoves his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “She has a doctor outside of town and goes to the hospital for her treatments, I guess.” His next question is serious. “What can I do for Scotty?”

Bones shoves away from the wall and enters the second exam room, Jim on his heels. Scotty blinks at the pair and McCoy wastes no time in asking, “How long have you been depressed, Mr. Scott?”

Montgomery simply stares at the doctor. “I ain’t depressed, doc.”

“Are you homeless?”

Scotty replies instantly, “No.”

“Then why do you sleep on a bus bench? And don’t say because it’s comfortable.”

The man shrugs. “No reason other than I need a lie-down—so I lie down. None o’ yer business.”

“I’m a doctor. Of course, it’s my business,” retorts Bones. Jim keeps quiet, letting McCoy do what he does best.

“I’m a'right.”

McCoy ticks off a list using his fingers, “Signs of chronic malnutrition, dehydration, clinical depression—which, considering the look of you, tempts me to place you under a possible suicide watch—" That seems to catch Scotty’s attention and the man protests, “No, I’d never do that!”

The doctor ignores him and continues, “—questionable hygiene that can lead to several unpleasant diseases, Mr. Scott, believe me and, finally, anemia. Perhaps you cut yourself?” asks McCoy, eyes sharp. “How often do you pass out, or wake up and not remember going to sleep?”

Scotty is shaking his head. “I dinnae—sometimes, the sleeping bit, I guess.” He looks pleadingly at Jim but Jim says firmly, “Tell Bones, Scotty. This is serious.”

The man slumps, defeated. “I don’t take care of me-self. I know that. Mom’s sick, and I...” He trails off.

McCoy sighs, voice sympathetic but still holding a trace of fire. “You can’t take care of somebody else when you are sick yourself, Mr. Scott.”

Scotty looks close to tears. “She won’t let me!” he cries, and Jim breaks his stance behind Bones, moving to Scotty’s side to sling an arm over his shaking shoulders. Scotty looks imploringly between Kirk and McCoy. “She’s so sick and she won’t let me help. I’m useless!”

Jim shoots Bones a helpless _what do we do?_

McCoy says to Scotty, “You’re not in good shape. I have to talk to your mother about that—"

Scotty switches from devastated to alarmed.

“—and I’ll tell her your concerns for her, too.” Leonard’s expression says he isn’t going to stop until he has this figured out—and fixed it. Jim has the silliest urge to kiss Bones until the doctor is breathless.

“What can I do, Bones?” Jim insists.

“I guess we’ve flubbed the patient-doctor confidentiality,” Leonard remarks with a snort, “so I’ll give you a list of vitamins and a diet he needs to follow. It’s too early at this point to discuss anti-depressants, not without more testing. Also, bring him at the end of the week. I want to do a blood transfusion, bring up his hemoglobin level.” McCoy adds with more humor, “And for God’s sake, make him bathe until he wrinkles. Your clothes were awful, Mr. Scott. We’ll burn them for you.”

“But...”

“I sent a nurse to fetch an outfit of her husband’s clothes. She said they’d fit you. Jim, once he’s dressed, you can take him home.”

Jim doesn’t have to think it; the choice is easy. “I’ll take him out to the farm. Mom’s been kind of lonely since Spock left. Scotty, man, I’m sorry. If I’d known how bad things were, I would have gotten you help. I’m sorry.”

Scotty ducks his head. “Not your fault,” mumbles the other man. “Imma mess.”

There is a knock on the door and Christine pops her head into the room. “Lacey has the clothes for Mr. Scott, Doctor.” She sets them, neatly folded, onto the chair by the door and slips back into the hallway.

McCoy nudges Scotty’s old boots from under the exam table and says, “Get dressed... Scotty.” He doesn’t question Jim’s choice of a nickname.

Jim and Leonard leave Montgomery Scott to do as ordered and walk towards Leonard’s office (which isn’t as big as Dr. Piper’s office but is separate and completely McCoy's).

Jim asks the doctor, “Do you think Spock would look into something for me?”

Bones stops walking to stare at him. “Sure he would, but what can he do? Spock isn't exactly the natural remedy for depression.”

Jim shrugs. “Just an idea, Bones. I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

McCoy doesn’t ask for further clarification, trusting Jim for an explanation on his own time.

When Scotty is dressed and anxious to leave, Jim takes him to the diner first. There, Jim speaks quietly with his mother. Winona listens to his recounting of Leonard's advice without interruption. Then she turns to Uhura and asks, “Can you handle the rest of lunch?”

Nyota nods, sneaking concerned looks at Scotty who stands silently by the door. Winona removes her apron, gathers her purse and keys, and takes Scotty by the hand, motioning for him to go with her.

Scotty is clearly ready to protest, but Jim says, “I wouldn’t if I were you” and the man closes his mouth. Jim watches as Scotty is bundled into his mother’s truck and they are on the road to the farm. Finally, he is content to climb back onto his bike and return to the garage. Later, Jim shall go to the drugstore and purchase the vitamins and other items on Doctor McCoy’s handwritten list.

And tomorrow he’ll see Spock.

~~~

If Mr. Spock is surprised to find Jim Kirk on his doorstep at nine o’clock in the morning, he doesn’t appear surprised. Either that has to be a talent of Spock’s, or there is a course in law school called Decorum When Presented With Unusual Circumstances.

“Hi,” Kirk greets the lawyer. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all, Mr. Kirk. Please come in.” Spock stands aside to allow Jim entrance into his home. “I was enjoying a leisurely breakfast on the deck. Would you care to join me?”

“Coffee?”

“Certainly.”

Jim watches Spock make a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, knowing by that point that he can’t say “I’ll just what you’re having” because Spock will ignore him. Instead he settles for “Thanks, Spock. I don’t mean to inconvenience you, though.”

“Your company is a pleasant surprise, Jim. I would not find it amiss, however, if you are here for a purpose other than a congenial visit.”

He smiles. “I do have something—or rather, someone—I want to talk to you about. Just a hypothetical situation.”

Spock hands him a cup of coffee. “Then perhaps we should retire to the deck and discuss this hypothetical situation.”

Jim follows the lawyer outside. The morning sun hasn’t warmed the air yet, and Jim is grateful for his jacket. He notices that Spock is wearing a sweater. Spock answers Kirk’s question without Jim saying a word.

“I prefer fresh air in the mornings.”

“Riverside is warmer than Boston,” offers Jim.

“Yes but unfortunately the winter section of my wardrobe serves its purpose, even in Iowa.”

Jim laughs and leans onto the ironwork patio table they are sitting at. “Cold weather is part of nature, Spock.”

“In America.”

“You like America,” counters Kirk.

Spock agrees, “I do.”

“Then stop complaining or move to Florida.”

Spock is doing that not-smile again. “You sound like Leonard.”

He grins. “Bones has that effect on people.”

Jim finds that he really likes the way Spock’s eyes show his mirth, though his face does not. Spock folds the newspaper occupying his area of the round table and places it to the side, effectively telling Jim that Kirk has his full attention for this discussion.

Jim tucks his hands between his knees. “How long does a college scholarship last—I mean, how long before the funds are no longer available?”

“That depends on the conditions enstated at the time the scholarship was awarded. Such conditions vary, as not all foundations can afford to be charitable beyond their means.”

He nods, having already guessed that much. “If a guy is guaranteed four years worth of financial support, let’s say, to an in-state university, chances are he won’t get a full ride out-of-state.”

“The odds are unlikely.”

“But he’d still get some support?”

“In general, yes.”

“Okay. So I know a guy who didn’t go to college after high school for... personal reasons but he’s ready to go now. He won a sizable scholarship before graduation. Is the money still available?”

“Provide me with the name of the scholarship and I shall contact the donating foundation on his behalf.” Spock adds, “I would require all the information you can give, Jim—including the circumstances surrounding his delay. It is possible the money is available but I suspect there will be a penalization clause which goes into effect after an allotted number of years of absentee or non-use. If this person’s circumstances are extenuating, he can appeal for the entire amount.”

“I’ll have to ask him.” _Convince him,_ Jim doesn’t say.

After a long moment, Spock asks, “Is it a habit of yours to champion others’ causes?”

“If I think they are worth championing.”

“And what do you seek to gain by doing so, Mr. Kirk?”

“Who said anything about gain?” he retorts. “Are you going to risk your career for Bones to gain his affection?”

“Irrelevant, as I already appear to have it.”

Jim holds up his hand to stay the argument. “I’m not trying to offend you.”

“Nor I you.”

“Then can we agree that we help people simply because we can and because it’s the right thing to do?”

“Yes, Jim. Forgive me, for it occurred to me that you do this quite often, notably so, and I was curious.”

Jim sips at his coffee. “Do what?”

“Seek to aid others.”

“Like you said, habit.” Holding his breath for a moment, he cautiously points out, “You do the same thing as a lawyer. Helping people.”

Spock looks away. “You are correct in your assumption of my habits as well, Jim. I chose a career in law not solely to appease my father’s sensibilities. I thought it offered an equitable trade—the power and position to defend people, to grant them justice.”

“But?” Jim prompts softly.

“In a firm, I am required to aid causes I do not believe in, or altogether trust. Pro bono work is also frowned upon, past the yearly quota. I... am dissatisfied, at present.”

“You could become independent.”

“Perhaps,” Spock replies. Then he turns to Jim again. “Is your coffee cold?”

Jim shakes his head but sighs. “I need to go, Spock. I’m sorry.”

Spock rises. “Thank you for the visit—and for listening.”

“I swear I would stay and listen for as long as you need to talk but Jose will work himself into a stupor if I’m not around to pull him away from that Corvette of yours.”

“Understood.”

Jim follows Spock back to the kitchen, then to the front door. They do not say much, except the trivial goodbyes. Jim fishes for his keys in his jacket pocket and trots down the front steps.

Spock’s voice halts Jim on the walkway. “Jim.”

He turns with a questioning quirk to his mouth to the man watching him.

“Would you care to have dinner with me this week?”

Poor guy is lonely. “Sure. We can try the Thai again or—"

“No.” Spock is tall in the doorway but strangely not imposing, as if he might be uncertain. “I would like to—I will cook. Traditional Filipino dishes, if you are amenable.”

“Spock, that sounds awesome!” Kirk grins unabashedly. “I’ve never had Filipino food before. If it’s good, I hope you realize you’ll have to satisfy my future cravings.”  
God, that sounded less dirty in his head.

“It is good,” returns the lawyer, not-smiling again. “Wednesday evening?”

“Great. What time?”

“7 pm, if you wish to eat. 6 pm, if you wish to help with the meal preparations.”

“Okay, six it is. See you.” He raises his hand in parting. Spock does the same.

Jim realizes belatedly as he pulls out of the driveway on his bike that he is humming the song “Stuck on You.”

~~~

Jim stops by the Star Motel to pick Leonard on Tuesday. McCoy slides behind Jim onto the motorcycle, grumbling and saying he'll kill Kirk, good-looking or not, if Leonard "tumbles off this infernal thing."

"You're safe with me, Bones," Jim tells the doctor cheekily.

"Just shut up and get me to work."

"Yes, master."

"Infant."

"Fake Bible salesman."

" _Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might,_ " Leonard quotes dryly, and Jim pretends to wreck the bike, causing McCoy to gasp and clutch at Jim's middle.

He laughs. McCoy curses the Kirk name.

Dropping McCoy off at the clinic without incident, Leonard turns to Jim and says offhandedly, rather than heading straight inside the building, "I got paid last Friday."

"Does this mean I get my cut?" Jim jokes.

Leonard rolls his eyes. "I'm offering to buy you a meal or take you to a movie. I'm bored outta my mind."

Jim says, "Sure."

"Tomorrow?"

Jim almost agrees but remembers his plans with Spock. "How about the day after? Or Friday?"

Bones gives him a strange look. "You have plans?" Then, in a mutter to himself, "Of course he can have plans. Don't be an idiot, McCoy." He turns and grabs the glass door of the Riverside Medical Clinic. "Friday's good. I'm sure I'll see you before then, but don't make it a medical emergency, kid."

Jim huffs out another laugh. "Scout's honor, Bones. Have a good day at work, dear!" Kirk tacks on, batting his eyelashes like a pretty wife.

McCoy's reply is lost when the glass door swings shut. Jim interprets his sour look easily enough, though.

~~~

Winona pauses while folding laundry. “You’re going on a date?”

“What?” Jim says, distracted by his plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. He savors another forkful before turning to his mother. “Sorry. Good food.”

She _tsks_ but doesn’t outright tell him to return to the kitchen and sit down at the table to eat like a proper gentleman. Maybe she has given up on teaching him manners?

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, love.”

Never mind.

He swallows. “What did you say?”

“This dinner with Mr. Spock—is it a date, Jimmy?”

He pulls the fork out of his mouth. “A date? No!”

The look Winona shoots his way is full of doubt. “A man offers to cook you dinner and you don’t think it’s a date?”

“We’re friends?”

She sounds equally questioning. “Are you?”

He thinks about it. “We’re not enemies. We have—a common goal.” Jim reddens. “Once you get to know him, Spock’s not a bad guy. Kind of neat, actually.”

“Mmhm. Well, just in case he means to be more than friendly, wear your blue shirt. It brings out your eyes.”

Jim groans. “It’s not a date.”

“Of course not,” she says, absolutely not meaning her words. “And wear that new pair of jeans I bought you. You can’t have worn holes in them yet.” She pauses. “Though some people think the ripped look is sexy. No, definitely not—you don’t want Mr. Spock to think you’re promiscuous on your first date.”

Jim says, ears burning, “I’m going back to the kitchen now.”

“Oh and, Jim,” his mother calls after his hasty retreat, “don’t take wine. Mr. Spock doesn’t drink! You’ll have to think of something else…”

Jim shovels the rest of the mashed potatoes into his mouth, unwilling to let them go to waste, but also needing to finish quickly and get out of this house before his mother starts coaching him in proper date conversation.

Scotty is at the kitchen table, looking better—healthier—than he has in years, and blinks at Jim Kirk who passes by to place an empty plate into the sink. When Scotty opens his mouth, Kirk says in warning, “Not a word!”

The man shrugs. “Was just gonna suggest the herbal store on Main. Maybe they have tea Mr. Spock would like?”

Jim closes his eyes and prays. “How did you know he likes tea?”

“Your momma talks a lot.”

 _Suck it up, Kirk._ He almost begs, “Don’t let her meddle, okay?”

Scotty’s only reply is an incredulous noise that surely means _how could I possibly stop her?_

When Kirk returns to his apartment (narrowly escaping more “helpful advice”), he strips and climbs into bed. But his mind won’t shut up, won’t stop turning over the possibilities. What is Spock thinking? Does he cook often or is he making a special offer? Does Jim have a pair of jeans without rips, tears, or stains? Green tea or black tea?

Exhausted by thought, he wonders at last, _If it’s a date, is it our first or second?_ After all, they did go bowling and then to The Jade Leaf, and Jim enjoyed the excursion immensely...

He drifts to sleep, his subconscious not minding one bit the thought of dating a man like Mr. Spock. But it does not occur to Jim to worry about what Bones would think.

Not until Bones shows up on Spock’s doorstep at a quarter to 8 o’clock, Wednesday night.


	15. Part Fifteen

“I don’t think I can move from this spot,” Jim says with a groan, slumping in his kitchen chair. He fiddles with his soup bowl of tinola, debating on a last bite or not. He has already scraped the bottom of the chicken curry dish, unable to decide if the curry is more Thai or Indian, thinking it must be a combination of both. “Filipino is officially my new favorite. Dinner was fantastic,” he adds appreciatively.

Spock places his fork aside, finishing the last lumpia—a piece of plantain wrapped and deep-fried like an egg roll and sweetened with sugar and syrup. “I suspect this news will be grave indeed for Mr. Mitchell.”

Jim laughs. “He would forgive me quickly enough if I mentioned your culinary skill. Then you’d be hard-pressed to ignore his demands that you teach him a few recipes.”

Spock does not seem intimidated by the thought of Gary Mitchell showing up on his doorstep. “If you are done—“ He says nothing of that fact that Jim had almost three plates worth, plenty to feed two or three people. “—shall we retire to the living area?”

Jim attempts to maneuver out of his chair. It creaks ominously. He’ll have to reinstate his morning run if Spock plans to make a Filipino dinner a regular occurrence. Once Jim is on his feet and shuffling away from the kitchen table, Spock takes the lead and Jim follows him until they come to the comfortably and tastefully decorated living room, complete with two couches and decently sized television. Jim regrets that he did not have the foresight to bring along a movie—preferably one of those that Spock admits to knowing nothing about—and improving Spock’s sad lack of exposure to American entertainment. He relaxes into one of the couches, certain that if getting up from the kitchen table was difficult, getting up from this soft couch will be tortuous, likely impossible.

Spock looks amused at Jim’s expression of bliss. He wanders out of Jim’s periphery vision, only to return bearing a delicately carved rectangular box. Jim rolls his head to the side, following Spock’s movement, and asks, “What’s that?”

The man places the object on the table and carefully opens it. “The game of chess—a gift, from my father when I was a small child.”

Jim sits up with interest. “I can play chess.”

“I had hoped such would be your answer.”

He leans over, fingers hesitating over the black sleek chess pieces. Spock nods his assent, and Jim picks one up to examine. The wood has been well-cared for but nonetheless shows signs of wear around the edges. “You must have played on a regular basis.”

“Yes,” admits Spock, “though I often had no opponent.”

“Really?” he asks, chest tightening unexpectedly at the vision of a young boy playing by himself. Jim had played with his mother, occasionally with whoever happened to be babysitting little Kirk. He rarely plays these days.

“I am an only child” is the short explanation.

And there were no other children interested in chess where Spock lived? No adults with free time?

Jim decides not to pursue the subject. He says instead, lightly teasing, “I’ll warn you, Spock—I’m an awesome chess player!”

Raising an eyebrow, Spock tilts his head. “What an arrogant statement.”

Jim grins. “It’s true, though. You think you can beat me?”

Spock begins to place the set of white pieces on his side of the board. “We shall see.”

The truth is Jim plays wildly, mostly without a strategy until the last minute, whereupon he does his best not to fail miserably. Sometimes he wins that way; sometimes his carefree attitude backs him into a corner he can’t fight his way out of. With Spock, however, for this first game Jim feels he ought to impress the man—not necessarily by winning (he’d be surprised if that happened) but by playing a serious game.

Jim is surprised to learn that he is rather good at playing seriously; he doesn’t even mind that Spock takes several minutes on occasion to contemplate which piece to move where. After an intense twenty minutes, Kirk is losing but only by a margin. Jim makes his next move, a bishop taking one of Spock’s pawns, and leans back, pleased and smiling.

Then Spock easily knocks away his black rook, in position to take the black Queen, and announces, “Checkmate.”

“What!” Jim bursts out. “B-But... Spock!” He almost scoots off the end of the couch to get a closer look at the chessboard, like he can will his Queen to runaway to safety by the force of his Jim Kirk stare. Failing to do just that, he drops his head forward in defeat. “Crap.”

Spock’s voice flows like warm water across his skin, soothing. “You played an admirable game, Jim. Would you care for a rematch?”

Jim glances at Spock through his lashes. “I wasn’t too bad, was I?”

“Admirable, as I said.” Spock’s dark eyes are glinting with something close to humor.

“That’s what all the girls say,” quips Kirk with a smirk. He straightens. “Okay. Round two, mister. Prepare to be—"

The doorbell echoes loudly throughout the house. Jim’s hand stills around his King. He turns to Spock questioningly.

Spock rises from his chair next to the coffee table. He is looking away, towards the front of the house, but makes no move to answer the door.

“Spock?”

Jim calling his name seems to bring Spock back to Earth. “I am not expecting additional company this evening,” Kirk is informed.

Then Spock is striding away, a curious and somewhat peeved Jim on his heels. Though why Jim is peeved at this unknown interruption of their evening escapes Kirk entirely. He slips to the side, lingering at such an angle that the person at the door won’t see him right away. (Jim is aware that the element of surprise might be an excellent advantage, though he hopes it won’t be necessary.)

Spock turns on the light in the foyer and opens the door. Jim reads surprise in the man’s posture but no obvious warning of danger.

“Spock, uh—"

Jim sucks in a breath, knowing that drawl (having heard it in his dreams too much as of late). _Bones._

“—sorry about the time, were you asleep?”

“I was not.”

There is a moment of silence, in which the two men must be having a wordless conversation Jim is not privy to. Then Spock steps back to allow Leonard McCoy entrance into his home.

When Bones walks into the light of the foyer, Jim shifts among the shadows, deliberately drawing McCoy’s attention. McCoy’s eyes widen at the sight of him, clearly not expecting Jim’s presence.

A small flare of anger takes Jim by surprise. He says, before he can think, “What are you doing here, Bones?”

Bones’ expression changes, darkens at the hint of displeasure in Kirk’s voice. He clears his throat but no animosity can be heard in his response. “I was... tired of being alone. ‘N you said you had plans tonight.” Leonard’s wry look reads _guess you weren’t lying._

Jim’s anger flickers out in the face of Leonard’s honesty. “Sorry. I didn’t mean... I’m sorry,” he replies lamely.

McCoy makes a waving gesture, as if to say _forget it_. The dark-haired man says to Spock, “I’m interruptin’. I’ll go.”

Spock’s eyes seek Jim’s and Jim nods, not needing to hear the question. Spock tells McCoy, “We would be pleased if you joined us, Leonard.”

Leonard doesn’t believe them, Jim can see that much. Yet there is something else, too, in Bones’ face that is hard to interpret. Still, Jim moves forward and curls his hand around Leonard’s bicep, tugging gently. “C’mon, Bones. Stay.”

McCoy lets Jim pull him in the direction of the living room. Jim says, too casually, “Spock and I were playing chess.” He nips at his bottom lip with momentary indecision. “We’ve already had dinner. You hungry? There are leftovers.”

Bones shakes his head as he gingerly takes a seat on the couch. “I had something earlier. I’m good.”

Jim looks at Spock and remarks, “He’s passing on your cuisine, Mr. Spock. Isn’t that rude?”

Spock’s mild look is answer enough.

Leonard is hasty to correct himself. “You mean Spock cooked? Shit, why didn’t you say so in the first place, Jim? Only an idiot doesn’t beg for scraps when Spock cooks.”

“Great! I’ll just, uh—Spock, I don’t know my way around your kitchen. Can you...?”

Without a word, Spock heads to the kitchen to prepare a plate of food for McCoy. Jim drops next to Leonard on the couch and stretches out his legs.

For a minute, neither of them speak. Leonard is looking everywhere but at Jim, and Jim stares unfocusedly on the sprawled chess pieces on the coffee table. Only McCoy’s soft sigh breaks the silence, prompts Jim to ask, “It’s late. How did you get here?”

“Bus runs until nine.”

Jim looks Leonard in the eye. “So you were planning on spending the night here?”

McCoy replies evenly, “I’d have caught a taxi home.” After a pause, “You staying the night?”

Jim tucks his hands into his jean pockets. “My bike’s in Spock's garage,” which really isn’t an answer to the question at all. Jim isn’t certain why he doesn’t assure Bones he hadn’t thought of staying with Spock past dinner. Truth be told, Kirk had not considered the possibility before that very moment.

McCoy is no fool. He wants to know, asking so quietly like Spock shouldn’t hear the question, “Jim, am I—am I interrupting something? Truly?”

“Do you think that’s any of your business, Bones?”

“No—damn it, yeah, maybe.” Leonard presses a hand over his eyes. “Hell, kid, this is awkwarder than a cow on crutches.”

Jim’s hand doesn’t clamp over his mouth fast enough to stop his giggling.

Leonard removes his hand and glares at Jim. “What?”

“Nothing, Bones—just, ah, when was the last time you saw a cow on crutches?”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “Lord help me, you’re a dingbat. It’s a _sayin’_ , darlin’. Like when I say if brains were leather, you wouldn’t have enough to saddle a junebug!”

Jim sits up. “Oh, really? Well you’re so dumb you couldn’t piss your name in the snow!”

“You couldn’t find your ass with a flashlight and a roadmap!”

Jim flails for a second or two. “Y-You’re so ugly you’d back lightning up a tree!”

McCoy doubles over laughing. When he is coherent enough to talk, he wipes at his eyes and manages, “Oh God, oh God, shut up, Jim, before I bust a rib or somethin’.”

Jim barely maintains a straight face. “You kiss your mama with that mouth, Bones?”

Leonard sinks back into the plush couch, rubbing at the tear tracks of laughter on his face. “I wouldn’t dare cuss in front of my mama. She’d tan my hide, even as old as I am.”

Jim thinks on that for a moment. Then he asks, somewhat somberly, “Does she know you’re in Riverside?”

Leonard’s inability to look Jim in the face is all the answer Kirk needs.

“That’s not right,” he tells McCoy. “I know she has to be worried about you, Bones.”

“You don’t know nothin’ about my family” is Leonard’s pointed reply.

“Jim may not be acquainted with your family, Leonard,” Spock interjects as he returns to the living room ( _right on cue_ , thinks Jim), “but I am. Your mother is aware of your location.”

Leonard’s face goes from startled to incredulous and slightly angry. “You told her? You had no right _to do that!_ ”

Spock places the plate of food on the coffee table. “Your departure upset her immensely. It would be insensitive to prolong her worry.”

Jim grabs for Bones as the man scrambles off the couch, without a doubt, to slug Spock. He tightens his grip on McCoy’s arm in warning. “ _Don’t._ ”

There is a wild quality to Leonard when he turns to stare at Jim. “You’re—you’re sidin’ with him? _Of course._ ” Leonard jerks his arm out of Jim’s hand. “I shoulda known. Is this what y’all are doing together? Plotting behind my back?”

Jim’s anger flares up again. He wants to says _watch yourself, McCoy_ but he can’t get words past the bone in his throat. What he does manage to say, after a tense span of seconds, is far worse: “You’re self-centered, Bones, you know that? Everything’s about _you_ , your problems, your fucked-up life. Tonight had nothing—nothing!—to do with you _at all_ but you’re pushing your way in, regardless!”

“Jim.” Spock’s sharp warning has Kirk snapping his mouth shut. He folds his arms since he can’t back away from McCoy with the couch blocking the only escape from behind.

Leonard is pale. “Well don’t hold back how you feel, Jim,” he says.

Jim closes his eyes, the aftermath of his rant like acid on his tongue. When he opens his eyes again, Bones has sidled around the far end of the coffee table, out of reach of both Spock and Kirk. “Bones,” he begins, “I didn’t—"

“You meant every word,” Leonard says in spite of Jim’s protest. “And I gotta say, you might be right, kid. I _am_ self-centered. Only a... an awful person drowns his friends in his misery.”

Spock circles the coffee table, towards McCoy, and surprisingly the man stays still at Spock’s approach. “Jim spoke out of anger. He is like you, Leonard; he is wont to say that which he will later regret.”

Jim doesn’t know whether to be touched that Spock is being understanding, or pissed that the lawyer is attempting to dismiss the truth in Jim’s accusations.

“Doesn’t mean what he said was wrong, Spock,” says McCoy.

Jim watches Spock reach out to touch Leonard, and Kirk sighs, falling onto the couch, limp and resigned. He twists a hand into his hair and mutters, “If you’re really so fucked-up, Bones, then we’re fucked-up by proxy.” Dropping his head back against the couch, Jim stares at the ceiling. _Just for a night—that’s all I want. One night, no drama._

The cushion dips beside him. Spock has maneuvered Leonard back onto the couch, close enough to bump elbows with Jim. Leonard sits hunched, hands gripping his knees, like he is expecting something awful to happen. Without worrying if he should dare to do so, Jim reaches over and places a hand on Bones’ thigh. McCoy doesn’t remove it.

Spock re-positions his chair to face them, sits down, and fixes them both with an inscrutable stare. The lawyer appears to come to a decision.

“Leonard,” Spock starts initially, “I must confess a recent development of a personal nature. Jim, to you also—as it pertains to you, quite irrevocably.”

That simple, remarkable announcement causes a shiver down Jim’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. He tenses, fully alert, ready to act and nervous beyond compare in the same breath. “What do you mean, Spock?”

Leonard has said nothing but is steadily focused on Spock nevertheless.

Spock, unexpectedly, directs a question to Jim. “Do you find me attractive, James Kirk?”

The muscle of Leonard’s thigh twitches when Jim squeezes it as an unconscious reaction.

“You’re attractive,” Jim says, mouth going dry.

“Are you attracted to me?” Spock asks again.

Without thinking, “Yes.” The punch of the automatic answer makes Jim shudder. He thinks of dark knowing eyes, of the imposing figure Spock cut while insisting that he must find Leonard McCoy, of the not-smile that tickles Jim in a soft, sweet way.

He _is_ attracted to Spock.

Oh. Shit.

Spock nods like Jim’s yes isn’t a revelation at all. McCoy is unnervingly quiet.

Spock turns to Leonard, then, and says, “I find that I reciprocate Jim’s attraction. I had not... anticipated doing so, yet when I realized you were drawn to Jim Kirk, I wanted to understand why. I studied him—"

Kirk makes a noise, because really he is _right here_.

“—and I initiated interaction with him—"

Jim covers his face with his free hand.

“—and eventually concluded that the qualities which endear Jim to you are, in general, esteem-worthy and... tantalizing.”

And any second now, Jim is going to sink through the couch, through the floor, and disappear and attempt to forget how embarrassed he is.

“Why are you telling me this, Spock?” Leonard asks at last, voice strained.

Spock explains “I do not wish there to be secrets between us” like the answer is obvious.

McCoy—and possibly Jim too—does not get it. He laughs, and it’s entirely fake. “There’s no need to break up with me, Spock. We’re not together.”

“Wait,” Jim tries to interrupt, “wait a minute—"

“I am not ending our relationship, Leonard—despite your insistence that we do not have one. I am telling you that I am not adverse to Mr. Kirk. An arrangement, perhaps—"

Jim can’t hear anymore. He leaps up from the couch with a fierce “No way!” only to barely save himself from face-planting as he clumsily scrambles over the couch’s armrest. Heart in his throat and feet firmly on the floor, he looks at McCoy and Spock in part shock and part fury.

It takes a precious second to control his breathing. Of all the... and Spock said Leonard agreed not to choose and now _Spock_ is suggesting... and what a _heartless_ suggestion.

“No,” he repeats, ragged. “I am _not_ a—a fucking arrangement!”

McCoy’s face switches from despairingly blank to horrified. “Jim...”

But Jim has his eyes on Spock. “Is that why you asked me to dinner," he demands, "to evaluate my, my suitability for a threesome?" His sudden rage is fueled by pain—by betrayal and, largely, disappointment. "Fuck you!”

He turns on his heel and strides away—not quite running—in the direction he vaguely thinks the garage might be. If he can’t find the garage, he’ll walk. Doesn’t matter, so long as he gets out of this house.

Bones is chasing him, calling “Jim!”

And he likes—liked—Spock. What an idiot, what a fool, what a stupid dreamer, born of feeling lonely, of wanting _more_ —

His instinct isn’t wrong. The door he jerks open from a hazy recollection is the door to the garage. But someone catches at his jacket sleeve when Jim begins to descend the first step, accidentally offsetting his balance, and with a sharp inhale of surprise, Jim misses the next step completely.

The pain of hurt feelings is nothing compared to the physical, knife-deep pain shooting up his leg when he cracks it against the unyielding cement of the stairs during his fall. But Bones is tumbling down with him, both of them in a tangle of limbs, and better to let Jim break than let Leonard get hurt, so he twists sideways to protect the other man. For a moment, upon landing, Jim sees nothing but black, a buzzing in his ears, faintly aware of Bones’ weight on top of him, of a smell he has grown to love, a Bones’ scent—cheap bourbon and aftershave. Then someone smacks his face sharply with “Jim, _Jim_ , are you with me?” and Jim blinks back from the edge of oblivion, only to land smack-dab into _epic pain_.

He groans, or at least whimpers manly. “Didja have t’kill me, Bones?”

Leonard retorts “You’re not dead” but his voice is shaky. “Can you sit up?”

“Probably,” he says, “but I’m fine on the ground, thanks.”

There is more than one set of hands lifting him up. Jim protests feebly, mostly grateful for the help. Once he is upright, he draws in a breath and says, “Don’t touch my leg.”

Bones automatically shifts to look at his leg. Jim curses him soundly.

“Spock, a pair of scissors?” McCoy asks the man crouched next to him. Spock rises, returning shortly with scissors.

Jim watches in detached fascination as the left leg of his brand new pair of jeans is slit up the side and effectively destroyed—if one discounts that he had ripped them at the knee during the fall. Leonard examines the limb, probing tentatively at various areas with his fingertips. Jim grips someone’s shirt at the shooting pain, willing himself not to faint. Kirks do not faint.

“Sorry, Jim,” soothes the doctor. “I gotta..."

“I know,” he grits out.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Spock asks.

“No,” Jim says at the same time McCoy replies, “Yes.”

Spock looks between them. Jim says, more forcefully, “I will crawl away from the paramedics if I have to. _No ambulance_.”

McCoy stares at Jim for a long minute and, despite the pain, Jim juts his chin out stubbornly. Finally, Leonard concedes, though he doesn’t look thrilled. “We have an x-ray machine at the clinic. You _will_ have an x-ray of this leg, Jim, if I have to drug you to get it done.”

He swallows. “It’s broken, then?”

McCoy says, “No, I don’t think so. Let me wrap it, though, just to be on the safe side. And I want you immobilized until the clinic opens. No pressure on the leg, _none_. It's already swelling.”

Jim jokes, “I gotta move, Bones, you know, to get home.” He doesn’t like the silent exchange between McCoy and Spock. _No, uh-uh, not going to happen._ “Absolutely not,” he argues before either of them can say a word. “My apartment—"

Spock summarizes, “...is a lengthy distance away, the journey to which could stress your injury.” Jim has no opportunity to protest because he is shocked when the man slides an arm under his knees, his other arm around Jim’s back, and lifts Jim with apparent ease.

Jim almost shrieks at the indignation of being cradled like a girl. The sound that comes out his “O” of a mouth is, at best, a gargle of astonishment and _hell no_. Leonard is kind enough to push the door wide open so that Spock can tote Jim back into his house like a damsel in distress.

He wiggles his upper torso madly, not caring if Spock drops him and how painful that will be on his already throbbing leg. Leonard calls to their retreating backs, “I’ll make an ice pack.” Then a quieter mutter, "Ibuprofen 'n bandages..."

Spock advises Kirk to remain still. Jim interprets it as _you cannot escape now_.

He decides then and there that, no matter what Spock is planning—bedside nursing, a threesome, or some convoluted mind fuckery like luring Jim into acquiescence with promises of Filipino food and chess games—he is going to give this man—and the aggravatingly irresolute doctor puttering around Spock's kitchen—absolute hell.

Jim Kirk Hell.

And then he is going to call his mother, tell her that Spock and McCoy broke his leg, and lie back to watch how poorly they fare against _her_.


	16. Part Sixteen

Jim rolls over, mindful of his bandaged leg, and presses his face into a fluffy pillow.

 _Stupid bed_ is his drowsy mental complaint. Stupid bed, soft as a freaking cloud. He could sleep all day.

A hand brushes against the back of his head, combing through his hair. (So nice.) He mutters nonsense, still half-asleep.

“Jim.”

I’m on the good meds, let me sleep.

“Jimmy.”

One more minute, Mom.

The hand drifts down his neck to rub circles between his shoulder blades. He makes an incoherent noise, his brain fighting a sweet fog in order to wake up. Memories surface of mornings after long bouts of the flu as a child, when his mother would be at his bedside, coaxing him to roll over and—

 _It can’t be_.

His eyes pop open. “Mom?”

“Hi, baby.”

He scrambles to turn over but a hand presses firmly on his shoulder. Winona warns him, “Slowly now, Jim. Dr. McCoy says you need to be careful.”

Jim turns to look at her, mouth open in surprise. “Mom, how did you...?"

She purses her lips. “Did you think it wasn’t pertinent to inform me you were hurt, Jimmy?”

Late afternoon sun filters through the window of the guest room, casting the sparsely decorated room in an orange glow. Jim strains but hears no other sounds except the rustle of bed sheets as he tugs at them.

“I’m fine,” Kirk tries to explain, strangely embarrassed to be caught shirtless and in pajama bottoms only. “Bones and Spock took me to the clinic this morning.”

“ _You should have called me._ ” A mild but firm reproach.

He hangs his head. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Winona hands her son a glass of water without another word.

He takes two swallows and sighs, sitting up and running a free hand over his face. He is still slightly groggy from the painkillers Bones had forced on him at the clinic, though Jim had insisted he had a high tolerance for pain. Spock escorted Jim, not to his apartment, but back to the house, assuring Leonard that he, Spock, could babysit a sulky, sleepy Jim for the remainder of the day.

Jim apparently didn’t have a choice in the matter, being carted around like a fragile child in need of close supervision. Kirk figured once he napped (two intended hours turning into five somehow), having spent the previous night too aggravated at his situation to sleep well, he would feel up to implementing his plan to annoy the hell out of Spock and Bones.

But now his mother is here, sooner than expected.

She explains, “I came as soon as Leonard called me this morning.”

_Damn you, Bones._

Jim would have gotten around to letting his mother know about the accident. Then again, maybe McCoy thought it best to confess to Ms. Kirk before she found out some other way and brought down a reign on fire on them all.

“Why didn’t you wake up me earlier? It’s late!” he gripes, finally able to clear away the last vestiges of sleep.

“You need your rest.” Winona touches his face, as if to reassure herself that he is okay. “Mr. Spock is making dinner. Are you hungry?”

He scoots off the bed, intending to take care of more pressing needs. When his mother instantly reaches out to steady him, he snaps, “I’m not an invalid!” He quickly amends his outburst however, almost in the same breath. “Sorry. Spock won’t let me move around by myself. It’s him I’m mad at, not you, Mom.”

“I’ll wait here. And I understand, baby.” She doesn’t say _I’m mad at him, too_ but Jim hears the sentiment in her voice.

As Jim hobbles into the bathroom, more than ready to pee, he wonders exactly how much Spock has enjoyed having Winona for company these past few hours. Kirk smirks into the tall bathroom mirror after flushing the toilet and washing his hands.

Maybe he is feeling kind of weak—in an entirely rile-my-mother-to-dispose-of-my-enemies sort of way.

Yesterday’s clothes are on the bathroom floor. He slips on his t-shirt, then reaches for a cotton robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Once it is belted at his waist, he fishes in his cast-aside pair of crumpled jeans (Spock had produced a pair of silk pajama pants for Jim to wear to bed) and retrieves his keys, tucking them into the robe’s pocket. Then Kirk limps out of the bathroom in a sad, depressed fashion, not protesting in the least when Winona hurries to loop a supportive arm around him.

He thanks her. When she asks if he is okay, he says (not completely dishonest), “My leg hurts.”

She says, “Oh, my poor baby,” and kisses his forehead.

Jim blinks like an innocent babe. They trudge down the hallway towards the kitchen. “Did Bones explain what happened?” Jim prompts.

“Only that you were in a hurry and fell down the steps leading to the garage.”

“So he didn’t tell you that it was his fault?”

Winona stops walking, causing a wobbly Jim to clutch at her in surprise. The sudden fury in his mother’s eyes, when she turns to stare at him, is nothing less than deadly. “Excuse me?” the woman asks too softly.

Jim stutters, “I m-mean, it _wasn’t_ his fault, if that’s what he said. It was an accident!”

Her hold becomes a gentle imprisonment, as if she does not intend to let him go until she is satisfied he is telling the truth. “Why were you in a hurry, Jim?”

“I was late. Had to get home.”

“Liar.”

“It’s personal.”

“There’s nothing more personal than someone hurting my child,” Winona counters darkly.

This... is not exactly how he imagined revenge on the two men attempting to drive him crazy. He has a childish need to see Spock and Bones cowering under his mother’s wrath—but not to see them axe-murdered.

Winona demands, “Tell me, Jimmy! Did they hurt you?”

“No—“ _Yes._ “—it wasn’t like that!”

“I know when you aren’t being entirely honest with me. I swear if—"

“Ms. Kirk,” interrupts a cool voice, “it is I who bears the blame.”

Jim cries over his mother’s head, “Spock, shut up!”

Spock does not heed his advice. Winona keeps a steadying hand on her son but she has shifted her full attention to Spock. She says nothing, which is worse (in Jim’s opinion) than shouting.

Spock stands like a man facing court martial, properly humbled before the executioner. He continues to talk. “I spoke out of turn and upset your son. His emotional turmoil led to his impromptu departure and, subsequently, to his accident. I was the cause of his distress; therefore I take full responsibility for the effects of my actions.”

“Jim has been nothing but kind to you, Mr. Spock. You should be ashamed that you would even consider hurting him, verbally or otherwise.”

“I am ashamed,” admits the straight-backed man, “though it was never my intention to hurt him. He misconstrued my proposal.”

Jim rocks back, wound opening anew. “Misconstrued, Mr. Spock?” he bites out. “Hardly. I’m no one’s toy and, without love, I am no one’s bedwarmer.”

Spock fixes his dark eyes on Jim. “You are correct, you are not a toy—and I have never thought so.”

Jim is the first one to break their locked gaze by glancing away. “Then why were you...?” He can’t get the words past the tightness of his throat.

“Jim,” Spock calls Kirk’s name with a soft quality to his voice. Jim is surprised to find that Spock has approached them now, despite that the man had clearly avoided coming within five feet of Winona Kirk not more than a minute ago. “I would discuss this matter further, to assure you of your value and that I do not wish to propose a tryst unequal in nature—but not in front of your mother.”

That last bit is a quiet plea.

Jim closes his eyes. “Fine.” He has no stomach for talking to Spock right now, anyway. Jim tugs at his mother’s hand. “Kitchen?” he reminds her.

She is looking between Spock and Jim, her expression hard with disapproval but also holding a hint of surprise. When she nods, agreeing to Jim’s suggestion, Kirk is more than happy to leave Spock lingering behind (though, he is certain the man follows the Kirks at a suitable distance) and put the confrontation in the hallway out of his mind. It won’t be until later that he realizes his mother only agreed to let the matter pass because whatever Spock had said had somehow saved the man from imminent demise at her hands. Except Jim doesn’t figure out what it was that could have been worthy of redemption.

They make it into the kitchen without incident only to discover someone already seated and waiting for them. Winona helps Jim to the table and occupies herself with checking a pot of something simmering on the stove.

Jim eases into a kitchen chair. “Uhura?”

The dark-eyed beauty looks at his leg in great dismay. “I thought you had outgrown the accident stage, Kirk.”

He tries for a lopsided grin. “And yet doesn’t that contradict with your belief that I am permanently infantile?”

She rolls her eyes. “A girl can hope.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Did you ride with Mom?"

“No. Christine came to the diner at lunch and told me. Marlena is covering my shift tonight.”

If the shoe were on the other foot, so to speak, Jim would be checking up on his injured friend, too. Still, that doesn’t mean he _needs_ all this attention. “I’m perfectly fine,” Jim groans dramatically. “Bruised. Jeez.”

The look Uhura shoots him is pure annoyance. “You broke our pact.”

Jim scratches at his ear in thought. “What?”

Nyota reaches over and smacks him upside the head, saying, “I know the fall didn’t damage your brain, dumbass! You were supposed to call me!”

“I might be brain-damaged now,” complains Kirk. He peeks over at Spock. “Can I sue for physical abuse?”

Spock continues to fiddle with the tea kettle on the kitchen island counter. “You would need a witness.” His tone means _and I am content to pretend ignorance as this woman beats you._

Uhura sniffs pointedly. “You promised, Jim. You promised to call me if you needed me, no matter what.”

Would saying “But I didn’t need you” earn him another smack? Probably.

He smiles charmingly. “I was in good hands, Uhura. I had Bones and Spock.” Never mind that he would have rather have had no help from them, but they are so skilled at trapping him and squeezing his heart until it bleeds. Fuck, but Jim is _dumb_ ; maybe a masochist since he cannot seem to leave them alone.

Nyota looks past Jim to Spock, her dark eyes heavy-lidded like a cat contemplating an interesting specimen. In a low whisper, she asks, “You trust them?”

 _I shouldn’t._ “Yes.”

“Then you might be a fool,” Uhura replies lightly, inspecting her fingernails like she is bored. It’s a ploy of hers Jim can see right through.

“Yeah, I know.” Then, sincerely, “I’m sorry, Nyota. Next time I’ll call you.”

Her lips curve in knowing amusement. “Call Winona first, then me.”

Jim winces. “On second thought, I’ll just pray that I am struck unconscious.”

"Well now that I know you aren't dead..." Uhura rises from her chair. “Do you need anything before I go?”

Jim tugs her close until she is bent to his level and he can whisper, “Tell them I can stay at your place. Please?”

Her eyes dart away toward Jim’s mother and Spock, both who appear to be interested in everything but Uhura and Kirk. Her response is wry, almost regretful. “It wouldn’t work.”

He whimpers. Perhaps no one would notice if he climbed into the trunk of her car?

She kisses his cheek. “I’ll think of something. Hang in there.”

Advice given by a person who has never endured house-arrest under watchful guards.

Uhura is polite to Spock, turning down an invitation to join them for dinner, and she hugs Winona goodbye. Jim thunks his head onto the table the moment she exits the kitchen.

“Jim?”

He mumbles, “Is the food ready yet?”

Winona lifts up his head, hands him a cup filled with one of Spock’s teas, and pats his shoulder. “In a few minutes, dear. I need to pick up Leonard from the clinic. Spock.” She doesn’t have to order Spock to keep an eye on Jim; Spock is already aware of his duties.

Then his mother is gone too, leaving her son to the tender mercies of the man who has almost single-handedly upset the balance of Kirk’s world. Jim stands up. Spock is at his elbow in an instant, not quite hovering.

He says stubbornly, “I want to go home.”

“That is not possible,” Spock tells him.

Incensed that he isn’t allowed to make decisions, he snaps, “Yes it is! Look, just because you feel guilty...”

Jim is completely unprepared when Spock tilts Jim’s head, long fingers capturing his jaw, and leans down to press his mouth against Kirk’s. He ponders absently how effective kissing is as a method to shut someone up.

Spock pulls back. “Guilt does not motivate me.”

Jim’s brain is no longer firing on all cylinders. He swallows, manages to ask, “Then what does?”

For a long minute, Spock has Jim in his thrall by a simple stare. At last Spock pulls farther away, giving Jim room to breathe, to collect himself. “Concern,” the man answers.

Jim’s heart is doing a funny little jig in his chest and he ignores it. “You don’t kiss a man out of concern.”

“No,” agrees Spock.

Kirk licks his lips, tasting mint and a hint of something sweet. He finds a tatter of resolve and clings to it. “Spock, don’t kiss me again.” Why does Jim’s voice sound so horridly ragged?

The lawyer tucks his hands behind his back. He seems unruffled by the almost-warning. “I cannot make that promise.”

Jim closes his eyes, his hand seeking his chair, and eases back into a sitting position. “I’m not an arrangement,” he states flatly, a last defense.

Spock merely says, “I know.”

Jim opens his eyes to discover a peculiar light in Spock’s gaze fixed upon him. That light might be a challenge; to Jim, it is far more terrifying because he has seen it before.

Spock has the same light in his eyes when looking at Bones.

Jim does the only thing he can at that moment. He exaggerates the pain in his leg and pleads with Spock to fetch his prescribed medicine from his bathroom. The second Spock leaves to complete the errand, Jim tosses off his robe and hurries to the garage, careful to ease his way down the steps this time. He activates the garage door opener, straddles his bike (despite that his leg protests at being stretched), and turns the key in its ignition.

And with all expediency Jim Kirk is gone, taking back roads to safety.

~~~

The trouble is that Jim doesn't make it to safety at all. Flashing blue lights of a cop car brighten the darkening sky, not passing Jim but forcing him to pull off to the side of the road. The curve of the road and a patch of dark pines lining it create a natural shelter from civilization and a perfect spot for an ambush.

Jim ignores the pain in his left leg and plants his right foot on the ground, not dumb enough to get off the bike.

It's Frank Rand, of course, who climbs out of the car stamped with the logo of the Riverside law enforcement. Jim tightens his hands on his bike handles.

"Kirk, are you aware that you were speeding?"

"Was I?" he asks mildly, knowing that he wasn't.

Rand's eyes skim his attire. "Going to a sleepover, boy?"

He bares his teeth in a false grin. "Nope."

"You drunk?"

"Definitely not."

Rand gives the motorcycle and Kirk a wide berth as he circles to the right. When Rand stops circling, he is in Kirk's periphery vision. "I need you to remove yourself from the bike, Mr. Kirk."

"Am I under arrest?" Jim demands. He cranes his head to look Frank in the eye, daring him to say so.

Rand lays a hand on his holstered gun in warning. "Off the bike."

Jim pulls the key out of the ignition but keeps it in his hand. He has no real weapon so it will have to do. "What else, Frank?" he insists, voice level. "Are you going to shoot me now? Tell my mother I resisted arrest or tried to take your gun? Any of those things would work." He laughs sharply. "Possibly."

Frank is unnerved by his unwillingness to show how scared he is. "You're going to get into the backseat of my car, Kirk, and we'll go downtown to the station. Don't sass me and I won't hurt you."

"Lie to yourself much?" Jim snaps. "Don't fuck with me, Frank. You have no intention of taking me downtown."

Rand pulls out his gun, clicking off the safety. "You're right, I don't. I thought you might like to delude yourself for a while longer. My mistake. Get in the car anyway."

Jim backs away from him. "No."

Frank snaps, "It wasn't a request, you piece of shit!"

"You'll have to shoot me."

"Get in the car!" screams the deputy, leveling the gun at Kirk's chest.

"You'll have to shoot me," repeats Jim. His leg is throbbing, wants to buckle. So this is what it's like, to see death coming for you and not be able to get away. He has always been lucky in the past, making a narrow escape.

Somehow, Jim doesn't think he will be so lucky this time.

They both hear it, the low roar of another engine in the distance. Rand tenses but does not lower his gun. Jim holds his breath and keeping walking backwards until he is standing in the middle of the paved road.

The car comes into sight, slows, stops. Jim is torn between keeping his eyes on Frank and the gun and looking at his rescuer. The person who steps out of backseat of the long black sedan says, rather peevishly, "What is going on?"

Deputy Rand remarks oddly, "This is Jim Kirk."

Jim dares to look at the man with the unfamiliar voice. He wears a posh suit, complete with a neckerchief and a stylishly neat haircut. Expensive wrist watch, polished shoes, and an umbrella used as a walking stick, which is currently going _tap-tap-tap_ against the man's leg in impatience.

The unsurprised, almost bored look on the man's face, however, is what strikes Jim like a blow. He measures Kirk for a brief second then says languidly, "Well met, Mr. Kirk."

"I'd return the greeting," Jim replies on a whim, "except I am currently under duress."

The man sighs and waves his hand at the deputy. "Put that away, you idiot."

"Sir..."

" _Now._ "

Frank re-holsters his gun without a word.

Jim swallows and says, "Thanks."

"Oh I wouldn't thank me yet, Mr. Kirk," advises the dark-haired gentleman. "Won't you join me for a ride?" He gestures at his car.

"No, thanks. I have a prior engagement."

"Then let me rephrase: join me in the car or I will let Mr. Rand shoot you in the leg, the one which isn't injured, I believe, and then my personal physician can remove the bullet later, on my whim. Yet I would rather hate for you to experience that pain unnecessarily. It is your choice, Mr. Kirk."

Jim opts to get into the sedan. Through the window, Jim watches Frank turn out the blue lights of his own vehicle then walk over to Jim's bike with a crowbar in hand. His attention shifts to the man sliding into the seat beside him and he asks, "Who are you?"

The man taps his umbrella on the roof of the car, a signal for the driver hidden in the front of the car to take them to their next destination. Then he turns to look at Jim Kirk, smiling in a way that sends a chill down Jim's spine.

"I am Trelane."

Trelane? Jim sucks in a breath at the realization of this man's identity. "You're running against Bob in the electoral race."

"Quite. I will be Riverside's next mayor."

Jim argues, "Maybe not."

Trelane simply looks at Jim, pityingly. "Oh but I will, Mr. Kirk. With your help, of course!"


	17. Part Seventeen

A missing person report doesn’t get filed until 48 hours after the disappearance. Trelane isn’t dumb enough to keep Kirk that long. He informs Jim of this early on:

“This is not a kidnapping, Kirk—may I call you Kirk? I tire of the trivial formality of _mister_. As I was saying, there is no crime here.”

Jim wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Trelane taps a rhythm against his umbrella handle as he talks. “I do not coerce, Kirk—I provide incentive to assure cooperation. Would you like to hear what incentives I can offer you?”

“I don’t want your money,” Jim states without inflection.

Trelane laughs. “Good Lord, of course you don’t! Not a man like you. You’re too _difficult_ , too much of a rebel. I won’t insult you with a bribe. No, I will merely say that I have connections, Kirk, ones which can ruin your life. Well, not yours precisely.” Trelane turns to look at Jim then. “Tell me, who would you give your life for, turn away from the righteous path and commit sin? Your mother?”

Jim clenches his hand into fists, saying nothing.

Trelane makes a _hmm_ noise. “That Mexican hick you work under? Oh! But there is this lovely woman with whom you occasionally fornicate.” Trelane slips a gloved hand inside his jacket and produces a photo. He contemplates it with a smile. “It is said redheads are feisty in bed. Is the rumor true?” The small photo is turned around so that Jim has a clear view of Gaila standing in front of her lingerie shop, in the process of turning the door sign from Closed to Open.

Jim is fully prepared to strangle Trelane in the backseat of the car, except when he jerks forward with “you bastard!” on his lips, Trelane raises a forewarning finger.

“Ah ah. My driver has instructions to pull over at the mere hint of disturbance and shoot you through the head. I wouldn’t tempt fate.”

“You’re an asshole!” spits Jim.

“I am a man who gets what he wants, one way or another. Are you ready to listen?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Jim stares straight ahead, breathing heavily through his nose. What is he supposed to do? What _can_ he do but let his captor talk?

“I am famished,” Trelane says instead of outlining his master plan—and Jim’s subsequent involvement—to conquer Riverside. “Shall we stop for a bite?”

Jim grits his teeth. “I don’t know you—and I sure as hell don’t want to eat with you.”

Trelane presses a button and says into a speaker built into the interior of the car, “Take us to the bistro, please.” The car slows at the next intersection and makes a right turn.

Jim folds his arms. “I doubt you want to be seen with a man in pajamas and slippers.”

This time Trelane both laughs and claps, wickedly amused. “How clever you are, Kirk! You are on the mark, we’ll have to do something about your attire. I patron this very refined gentleman’s clothing shop...”

Jim snarls, “What the fuck is the matter with you? You kidnap me, want to turn me into a criminal or something equally heinous, and yet ‘let’s go to dinner!’, ‘let’s go shopping!’ _Fuck this_ , I want out right fuckin’ now!” He tugs on the door handle and curses. There is no door lock to undo, otherwise Jim would have tossed himself out earlier, moving car or not.

Trelane is no longer amused. “I have attempted to do this the harmless way, James Kirk.” A sharp rap on the roof with that ridiculous umbrella has the car rolling to a stop in a nearby alley.

Jim stills. When his door opens, a hulk of a man aims a gun at his face and tells him to get out of the car.

Trelane makes a little shooing motion at Jim. “Go on. Get out if that’s what you really want.”

Jim steels himself and slides out, unfortunately not in a position to throw himself at the giant without taking a bullet first. He hears Trelane’s voice from inside the car. “Do hurry up now, I am positively _craving_ those little biscuits at the bistro!” says the politician without a care.

“Turn around,” orders Trelane’s giant.

Jim closes his eyes and does, albeit slowly. The last thing he notes, before the sharp crack to the back of his head, is that the sedan’s trunk has been popped open.

 _Shit_ , he thinks. Will he be alive or dead when his body is stuffed in the trunk?

~~~

All right, so this bad situation could be worse, Jim decides when he comes to and discovers he has a humongous headache and is tied to a chair.

He isn't dead. Small miracle, that.

He squints, not that he can see much in the dark. Wherever he is smells awful, like mold and rotting wood. (Perhaps pine?) Typical kidnap victim in an abandoned warehouse, maybe? At least Trelane does something predictable. And unfortunately remembered to gag Jim.

Kirk groans, wishing now that he had never left Spock’s house. Better to make-out with Bones’ sweetheart than end up at the mercy of a madman. But he hadn’t wanted to encourage Spock, not when Jim is certain Leonard won’t agree to whatever off-the-wall suggestion the lawyer intends to make—and, shit, Jim doesn’t want to lose Bones, give the man a reason to leave him, even if it means Jim has to pretend he can be happy alone.

Kissing Leonard makes Jim tingle down to his toes.

Kissing Spock has the same effect.

What is wrong with Jim? How can he be so mixed up?

A door slams somewhere in the dark. Jim swallows, puts aside his wandering thoughts, and futilely wiggles his bound wrists. He can’t break the hold or the rope securing his legs and chest to the chair. What do the action heroes do in the movies at this point? Break the chair with their amazing strength?

The chair barely wobbles because of his weight pinning it down. Jim rocks a little harder. No result. Okay, momentum. He jerks himself to the side, once, twice, again, _almost there..._ and the chair pitches over with him in it.

But now he has scraped his cheek against the dirty concrete floor and made his head hurt worse and he can’t move. Half of his face pressed to the floor, still tied up.

 _FUCK!_ Jim screams against the gag, frustrated and pissed and afraid.

For a long time (minutes? hours?) no one comes. He thinks he hears a rat scurry by his head. His leg would throb if it wasn't numb. There’s an itch on his right elbow driving him nuts. And Jim might be perspiring because he is nauseous from not having eaten in at least twelve hours.

 _This could break a man_ , Jim thinks with despair. If he were stuck, left here and never found...

The distant sound of a door creaking on hinges cuts through the silence. Then footsteps—the best damn thing Kirk has heard in ages.

A light clicks on and shines in his face. He squeezes his eyes shut until the light moves away, and when Jim looks again, he cannot really see who is holding the small flashlight.

“You are quite comfortable, Kirk?”

Trelane.

Jim’s response (which is along the lines of “up yours, motherfucker”) is muffled. Trelane squats and leans into Jim’s view so that Kirk can see the face of his captor.

With a gloved hand, Trelane works the gag out of Jim’s mouth. Kirk spits and swallows several times, wets his cracked lips, until Trelane says, annoyed, “Done?”

“Yeah,” croaks the man. “Rag tasted like armpit.”

“Would that I could keep you around solely for your humor, Kirk. Are you ready to listen now?”

“Was last time,” Jim retorts, feeling kind of dizzy even though he is stationary, “but you wanted to play games, Trelane.”

“No, I was hungry—and you were rude. But I think you have endured enough punishment, don’t you?”

Jim says nothing, neither willing to garner more time in the dark tied to a chair nor willing to beg for his release.

Trelane’s mouth curves. “So much pride. Ah well, we are all very prideful. You are forgiven.” Then the man stands up and orders someone else, “Help him up.”

The giant is back, skulking like a shadow. Jim feels the power in the man’s arms as Jim is lifted, chair and all, and settled into an upright position.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Jim complains to Trelane.

The man leans on his umbrella. “That shall be remedied—if you listen.”

Jim tilts his chin up, initially stubborn, but his sense kicks in and he nods.

“Excellent. As I said before, and I shall briefly mention now, I can find a way to tear your life to pieces, Kirk, rather easily. You may think you can handle dying, brave man that you are, but rest assured it won’t be _you_ that I hurt, at first. And you won’t be able to stop me either.”

“What do you want?”

“I told you this already—to be Mayor of Riverside.” Trelane’s face smooths, all traces of childish pleasure and good humor gone. “Your... family friend, shall we say, Robert Wesley is a favorite of the townspeople. Why shouldn’t he be? The man has been mayor for a long time. Yet even the best of men find their time runs out.”

Leaning very close to Kirk (Jim smells the man’s strong cologne), Trelane says shortly, “I want you to ruin Wesley. I don’t care how you do it or at what cost, only that it gets done. Soon.”

Trelane produces a business card, black except for a number printed on the front. He tucks it under one of the loops of rope across Jim’s chest. “If you need monetary assistance, you may call this number. Otherwise we shall not speak again, you and I. Keep in mind that going to the police won’t help you—" Jim thinks of Rand and knows Trelane’s threat to be true. “—and should you tell another soul of our conversation, I will have your tongue—and that of your companion’s—cut out.”

There is an almost maniacal gleam in Trelane’s eyes, like he dares Jim to ask him to prove his capability as a villain.

Jim only says, “I listened. Now let me go.”

The weirdly cheerful manner is back and Trelane thumps his umbrella against the ground as a toddler might beat a grubby fist on the tabletop for his parents’ attention. “I do enjoy these chats! There is one final thing to oversee.” He holds his hand out to the side impatiently. The giant flicks open a sizable pocket knife—Jim’s heart leaps at the sight of it—and places it in the palm of Trelane’s hand. The man tucks his umbrella under his arm and grasps Jim’s head with his free hand.

Jim tries to pull back but Trelane says, “Don’t. The knife might slip.”

Jim’s eyes follow the blade until he can’t see it anymore, only feels it sliding past his ear, and closes his eyes, certain he might puke on Trelane in another second. But he doesn’t, and when the grip on his chin is gone, Jim opens his eyes to find Trelane grinning at a lock of Jim’s blond hair held between forefinger and thumb.

“A keepsake,” explains Trelane. “A memento of this moment we have shared.” Then the man turns away, dismissing Jim altogether, and tells his lackey, “Cut his bindings. Shoot him if he tries anything foolish. I will be in the car.”

Coins hit the ground. A quarter rolls until it hits one of Kirk’s feet. “For the pay phone outside, Kirk,” the politician calls over his shoulder as he vanishes in the dark. “In case you need to call a cab.”

Jim is weak, aching, and sick to his stomach. He resolutely doesn’t think of fighting as the rope is loosened and his hands freed. He hangs in his chair, face down, listening until the echo of the other man’s footsteps is gone. Only then does Jim tug his arms out of the ropes and work on those binding his legs.

Standing up is almost impossible in the beginning, with cramped muscles and the painful sensation of feeling returning to his lower limbs. Hobbling is the best he can manage, but Jim is quick in his escape, determined to get away from this stinking place.

He finds the pay phone in the corner of an abandoned, weed-cracked parking lot. Using the change Trelane had left behind, Jim calls Gary Mitchell. The man answers on the second ring.

“Gary?” Jim whispers, the phone now shaking in his hands. “Gary?”

“Jim? Oh God, Jim! Where are you? I heard your bike—bottom of the gravel pit, the south highway—“

The words are starting to flow in and out. Jim gulps air, hunches over thinking _don’t pass out_. “—frantic—search party—"

Gary is babbling, relieved and angry.

“Gary,” Jim interrupts, and he isn’t near tears (he is). “I need—I need you to come get me, okay? Only you.”

“Jim, are you all right? Where are you?”

“Old lumber mill. Gary, please, _only you_ , okay?”

“Your mom—"

“Only you!” he yells into the phone.

There is a heartbeat of silence. “Okay, just me, son. Don’t go anywhere. Promise me.”

Jim manages, “Promise.”

“Jim…”

“Just come get me, Gary.” Jim hangs up, stumbles a few feet away, and vomits.

When he is done, feeling marginally better, Kirk sits on the ground and waits. He’ll think of something to tell people. Gravel pit isn’t all that far from here. Lost control of the bike, hit his head. Wandered until he found a pay phone.

Trelane’s smart, is giving him all the right pieces to build a convincing tale.

Except the blow he suffered is to the back of his head; his wrists are marked with rope burns from struggling; and his wallet is at Spock’s.

But Jim will think of something, a good lie, and no one will be the wiser.


	18. Part Eighteen

Jim is so out of it when Gary finally arrives that he pays less attention than he should once they are on the road. But apparently Mitchell only needs one look at Kirk to point his truck in the direction of the clinic. Early dawn has given way to the waking hours of the town, and Jim is having a hard time figuring out how he lost so much time.

Then he remembers sitting in the dark, of why his wrists burn and his hair is matted with blood. Gary had cursed heartily at seeing that before tugging Kirk’s limp arm over his broad shoulders and half-carrying Jim to his truck. After five failed attempts to get Jim to talk, Gary quit asking questions. Now he only says continuously, “Stay awake, Jim. I need you to keep awake for me.”

Like Jim could fall asleep. He hurts. Everywhere.

And he is screwed beyond compare.

Right now, though, none of that matters. Kirk’s forehead rests against the cool glass of pickup's passenger window. He shivers but he isn’t cold because of the temperature.

They have done this many times in the past, he and Gary. Kirk getting into trouble, calling up Mitchell to come haul his ass out of whatever fire he had thrown it into. Except this time Jim didn’t go looking for trouble, it came to him.

Demanded something awful of him, something Jim knows he can’t do. Bob is his friend. No, more than that. Bob is the man who might have been his stepfather, who had quietly and unobtrusively aided the widow Winona Kirk, to give her work, stave off them losing the farm, and yet allow Winona time to raise her boy, too.

Bob loves Winona, and even though Winona has never returned the affection to that depth, Wesley looks out for the Kirk family. Is part of the Kirk family, in a way that no one would outwardly identify. Robert Wesley is a good man, a great mayor for Riverside, and Jim would rather drown himself than cause harm to Bob.

He will have to find a way around Trelane’s demands. He will have to find a way to expose Trelane and keep his family and friends safe at the same time.

It seems an impossible task.

“Jim?” Gary’s hand touches his shoulder. The truck is no longer moving.

Kirk does not shift from his slump. “Yeah?” he asks wearily.

“Hold still. I’ll come around to the other side.”

Even holding still requires effort, makes Jim utterly tired.

Gary takes a long time to walk around the truck. Once Jim’s brain finally realizes this, someone is pulling open the passenger door and reaching for him.

“Jesus, kid.”

Shit. Only Bones could sound that combination of concerned and pissed.

Jim struggles to open his eyes (doesn’t remember closing them). Soft but firm hands turn his head. A light shines in his eyes.

Jim jerks back, remembering Trelane’s flashlight.

“Easy,” murmurs McCoy. “Probable concussion,” the doctor says to someone other than Jim. “Need to get him inside and get a better look.”

Kirk protests when people start rearranging his limbs. “I can—hey, I can walk—" but he might be jumbling his words.

Gary and McCoy are on either side of him as his feet touch the ground and Jim is surprised when his legs instantly buckle. They aren’t supposed to do that. He is heaved upright with strength not his own and shuffled through the back door of the Riverside Medical Clinic.

Only once Jim is settled on a flat table (a gurney? he is missing details because he can’t focus) does Kirk look at Mitchell and slur, “You suck.” Meaning, _How could you take me to Bones? I told you I was fine._

“So sue me, son,” Mitchell says grimly.

Jim thinks of Spock without warning, maybe says “Spock?” and Leonard leans over him, gingerly exploring his blood-stiffened hair. The doctor tells Kirk, “Spock is with Winona. She’s mad that I wouldn’t let her back here.”

_Oh God. Everybody is here?_

A shadow moves on Jim’s right but he isn’t allowed to turn his head to look. He hears Chapel talking (to Gary?) but is distracted when McCoy says sharply, “Jim.”

Jim opens his eyes (crap, why do they keep closing?). “Bones?”

Leonard has lifted one of his hands. Jim stares at Bones’ latex-gloved fingers, fascinated for no explainable reason at the way they cradle his own fingers. McCoy is saying, rather than asking, in a tight voice, “These wounds, Jim—"

He is talking about Kirk’s wrists. Rope burn. Jim laughs a little. McCoy’s grip on his hand becomes almost painful.

“Jim, d’ya need the police?” Bones asks, already searching for other wounds not visible to the eye.

Were Jim more coherent, he would tell Bones he doesn’t allow that kind of poking until the third date. Instead he manages (because he needs Leonard to understand, to let it be), “No police.”

Leonard’s expression is intense, eyes vividly green. “Motorcycle accidents aren’t responsible for this kind of trauma.”

He uses the last of his strength to hold McCoy’s eyes, to will the man to hear what he can’t say outright. “ _Police won’t help, Bones._ ”

Whatever Leonard McCoy takes away from Jim’s statement isn’t good. “Jim, d-did...?” McCoy cannot seem to finish that thought, face pale. The doctor glances away then gets up and moves out of Jim’s line of sight, and Jim is sad.

Come back, Bones! Come back!

Stupid concussion.

Jim tries to sit up. Hands (lots of hands) pin him down. He doesn’t like that. He tells the hands so. One of them strokes his face. Another is holding a needle.

Jim hates needles.

A tiny prick. Soon enough he begins to float, not quite sleeping but not really awake. And for once, in this in-between state, there is no need to worry about how he is going to save everyone.

~~~

The first time Jim wakes up, people are arguing. Jim catches different snatches of conversation.

“—how can you possibly— _look at his wrists!_ —“ Mom?

A tired voice. “—in the report. Sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing...”

“—my _son_ —you have no right!—"

"—his doctor!"

A loud noise, like a book being slammed onto a table.

For a moment, there is absolute silence. Then someone touches his forehead but Jim is dragged under by the pull of sleep again, can’t muster the energy to open his eyes and see who it is.

~~~

His mother is sitting by his bedside the second time. He is conscious for a while longer, just enough to squeeze her hand and mumble “sorry.” She assures him he has no reason to apologize, and smiles. There are tears in her eyes.

~~~

Someone has turned one of the small examination areas into an impromptu hospital room. Jim is alert the second day, having been escorted to the bathroom by a McCoy with dark circles beneath his eyes, and is tickled by some of his visitors. Janice likes to check in every thirty minutes during her shift, Winona brings Scotty with her during the afternoon, and Uhura shows up to pretend rather poorly that she hadn’t been terrified when she thought he had gotten himself killed. He promises her a free ice cream cone at The Ice Cream Shoppe and that seems to soothe Nyota into believing he is okay. She promises to bring Pavel and Sasha to visit him tomorrow.

During a lull in the activity—no McCoy to grumble over bandage-changes or Jan to ask for the umpteenth time if he needs anything—Winona rubs his fingers absentmindedly and admits that she had yelled at Leonard the day before. Jim tries to ask about it but she just shakes her head and pats his hand, saying he doesn’t need to worry and that he should focus on feeling better.

Jim doesn’t necessarily feel bad, barring the dull ache of his head and wrists. He pulls at the IV in his arm once Chapel turns her back, only to have her spin around (maybe she has eyes in the back of her head?) and slap his hand away and tell him to behave. He asks her where Bones is and she says, “Raiding the hospital for your supplies, Jim. We didn’t take you there because Leonard said he’d rather not get a midnight call that you had attempted escape out of a tenth-story window and splattered your brains across the parking lot.”

Jim grins a little. “I’m a good climber.”

“Not with a concussion.”

“Especially with a concussion!”

She puts a pill into his right hand and a glass of water in his left. Jim frowns at the innocuous white pill but before he can protest the necessity of medication, she says firmly, “Dr. McCoy’s orders, Jim.”

With a quirk of his mouth, Jim murmurs, “Well, if Bones says so...” and chases the pill down with a swallow of water.

He realizes belatedly that its purpose is to knock him out. _So much for trusting the medical staff._

~~~

Kirk is in light doze when a masculine drawl wakes him up by saying, “I had to update your file two days in a row. I’m beginnin’ to understand why Piper wanted to quit you so bad.”

Jim doesn’t bother to open his eyes. “I’m un-quit-able.” The visitor’s chair to the right side of his bed scrapes against the floor as it is pushed back and Doctor McCoy sits down.

“You’re a goddamn medical nuisance, kid. How do you find anything to eat when you’re allergic to half the food pyramid?”

“Been late-night reading?” asks Jim.

“Something like that.”

Jim sighs and opens his eyes. “Mashed potatoes,” he says, like this explains everything McCoy should ever need to know about James Kirk.

Bones’ eyebrow shoots up. “Excuse me?”

“Mashed potatoes,” repeats Kirk. “My allergies started when I was really young ‘n there was a period while I was being tested and on lots of medicine that Mom and Mark were strapped to figure out what I could eat. Mashed potatoes were safe, practically lived on it for weeks.” His stomach growls at that tidbit, and Jim looks sheepish. “I’m kind of in love with them now.”

“Is that why your mother brought a mashed potato casserole?”

Jim sits up. “Where? What have you done with my food?” he demands.

McCoy holds his hands up surrender. “We only ate a third of it, honest. The rest is the frig in the lounge.”

Jim pouts because he can. Leonard seems to take this as a signal that Jim is recovering well. The doctor sags slightly in his chair.

Jim feels a keen sympathy for the man. “I haven’t thanked you yet, have I, Bones?”

Leonard drawls, “Just doing my job.”

“I mean, not just for this.” Jim gestures at his wrists and head. “For the fall-out.”

“You mean not hollering for the police? God I wanted to,” admits McCoy. “It goes against the grain of me, Jim, not reportin’ your condition.” McCoy’s expression darkens. “You haven’t explained about that yet, either.”

“And I won’t.”

“You should. I got chewed out by your mother for siding against her on the police-issue.” McCoy shudders. “I don’t ever want to be on her bad side again.”

“I’m sorry, Bones, I can’t.”

Leonard stares at him. “Don’t think us dumb, kid,” the man says quietly. “It’s easy to see that your two and two adds up to five. What worries me, though, is why you won’t talk about it.” Leonard pauses, hesitates. “We did a thorough exam of you, Jim, but there are ways to... hurt a person without leaving a physical mark. I wish you would put my mind at ease.”

Jim glances down at his bandaged wrists. “I need to handle this one on my own.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then I will ask for help.”

“I don’t like it. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know you do.”

The silence between them is not uncomfortable. Jim leans back on his pillows and counts the ceiling tiles. Without a word, Leonard gets up from his chair and walks over to the door; rather than leaving, however, he shuts the door completely.

Jim is not certain what to make of the doctor’s expression as he approaches the bed. Kirk has the silliest urge to pull his bed sheet up to his chin like a young child.

Bones isn’t the boogie man, though, and when the man plants a knee on the edge of the bed and leans over Jim, Jim does not look away.

“Something I can do for you, Bones?” he asks, voice dropping to a natural nervous huskiness.

Leonard’s eyes linger on his face for a long moment (possibly just seconds) before the man sighs almost inaudibly in defeat. Then McCoy tugs Jim forward by the chin and kisses him with a light press of their lips.

As Jim reaches up to grasp McCoy’s shoulders, to keep the man close, he thinks he hasn’t had a better doctor in years. _Have to get sick more often_ , muses Kirk, if sickness leads to butterfly kisses along his jaw.

Jim groans. Leonard pulls back, and Jim catches a glimpse of loving exasperation in those green eyes.

McCoy asks, probably not expecting an answer, “Why do you do this to me, Jim?”

Rhetorical or not, Jim finds himself answering. “Wasn’t me,” he says giddily. “You’re the one trying to put your tongue in my mouth, Bones.”

McCoy’s dry response is “Exactly why I had to close the door first. Don’t want all my patients thinkin’ they can get the same treatment.”

The warmth in Jim’s chest grows exponentially.

It’s all too short-lived. Someone knocks on the door. “Dr. McCoy?”

Leonard scrubs the back of his hand against his mouth as he straightens, like there might be signs of his indiscretion that need erasing. Jim, on the other hand, attempts to look as debauched as possible, mussing his hair and trying to call up a post-coital glow.

McCoy shoots him an amused glare as he opens the door. “Yes, Chapel?”

Christine hands the doctor a folder and a chart and says a patient is waiting to be seen. After McCoy disappears around the corner of the door, the nurse stays put, her eyes locked contemplatively on Kirk.

He grins, unashamed.

She only says, “Guess you are feeling better.”

“Tell Bones to come back ‘n visit soon!” replies Kirk with a wink.

She rolls her eyes and walks away, leaving the door half-open. Kirk notices Janice steals a glance inside his room as she passes the door.

He settles into his small bed, content with the lingering feel of Bones' mouth on his.

~~~

Jim is released on the condition that he wears a leash. Well okay, not literally, though Bones tries to add in that particular clause, much to everyone's (but Jim's) amusement.

The first thing he misses on his exile from the clinic is his motorcycle. It had been transformed into a mass of twisted metal as it plunged into the gravel pit (Jim might have been a twisted mass, too, had he gone down with it), Jim is told, and is positively useless. Not that Jim would be allowed to ride one so soon. Winona tightens her grip on his arm at the mere mention of Jim straddling another bike, and Leonard looks no better. Spock is the only one who seems calm in comparison, who doesn’t fuss over Jim or anything pertaining to Jim with abandon the way that his mother and McCoy do.

Jim is sort of pissed about that, actually.

He sits in the waiting area like a lump next to the lawyer while the trio of Winona, Leonard, and Chapel exchange last minute notes on Caring for James Kirk 101.

Jim says, not so idly, “Haven’t seen you since Friday.”

At least, he thinks Spock was there when he was toted into the clinic by Gary. That day is mostly a blur, clouded by the hint of a nightmare that wakes him up at night. McCoy had taken to hinting that Spock had been by to visit Jim while Kirk was sleeping or drugged to the gills. But today is early Sunday morning, and Jim has only the sense that Spock doesn’t want to see him.

Then again, why would Mr. Spock be sitting in this clinic if that were the case?

When Spock opts not to answer Jim’s obvious inquiry, he frowns and turns to face the man. “Are you pissed at me?”

“No.”

Apparently details will not be forthcoming. Jim rubs the bandage of his left wrist against his pants leg to quell itching skin. “So this is it for us then,” he says slowly. “No explanations, no emotion—just silence.” Why should that bother Kirk so much?

Spock continues to look straight ahead. “Until you care to clarify the true circumstances of your disappearance, I highly doubt there will be much conversation between us.”

He peeks at Spock out of the corner of his eye. “Not even about you kissing me and me running away?”

“In particular, not that,” replies the lawyer, and Jim is stunned by the sincerity of Spock’s words.

Before he can press further, Winona approaches them and says, “Let’s go home, Jimmy.”

~~~

He spends the next two nights at the farm, entertaining Scotty, sleeping late, and eating large meals to appease his mother. She reluctantly agrees on the third day to let him go back to his apartment (but only after calling McCoy at the clinic and insisting that the doctor come over to give Jim a clean bill of health). Jim remains patient while Bones puts on a show for Winona and all but declares Jim ready to go back to work. Jim makes a point of saying Jose can’t manage the garage without him; Leonard stands firm, though, on the subject of returning to the auto shop. He says Jim has to finish out the week by relaxing or he’ll inform Winona of the dire probability of a concussion relapse—this McCoy threatens in a low whisper to Jim when Jim’s mother has returned to the kitchen to check on the pie in the oven—and make it hard for Jim to live on his own ever again.

Jim has a burgeoning respect for how Leonard plays hard ball.

Once all the men in the house have been amply fed and Bones and Jim are loaded up with extra food, Winona drives them to Jim’s apartment and drops them off.

The first words out of Jim’s mouth, upon stepping foot into his place after a week of absence, are “Holy shit!”

Leonard is smug. “Looks like you’ve been visited by a cleaning fairy.”

Jim has never seen his apartment so... white and shiny. Judging the state of the floors, the five-second rule for dropped food might not be so dubious anymore. He peeks into his refrigerator. The fuzzy mold in the back is gone.

McCoy heaves the bags of Tupperware-encased food onto the kitchen counter and begins unloading various items. Jim puts them in his sparkling clean refrigerator with pride. Once the goods are safely stored, Jim observes the various cleaning supplies under the sink.

“It was Mom,” he concludes. “She has an unhealthy obsession with bleach.”

“And Nyota and Gaila, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jim immediately straightens up. “Gaila... and my mother? In the same room?”

McCoy wants to know, “Is that bad?”

“Generally nuclear holocaust bad,” Jim remarks. “Of course, Uhura probably mediated.”

Leonard snorts. “I hear they actually had a good time.”

Jim pales and squeaks, “What!”

“Something about your underwear.”

In a flash Jim is gone, fairly stumbling his way to his bedroom. He yanks out a drawer in his dresser and paws through its contents. Kirk isn’t aware of Leonard peering over his shoulder until the man drawls, “Is that a man thong?”

Jim slams the drawer shut, almost catching his fingers. Face red, he nudges McCoy back towards the living room. There will be time later to figure out how much giggling and lewd innuendos he will have to endure from Nyota and Gaila.

And his mom.... _God._ How is he supposed to pretend he doesn’t have a sex life around his mother now? Awkward-city.

McCoy doesn’t seem to be in any hurry so they settle on his couch and watch television, only to crack open the leftovers as a makeshift dinner when the sun begins to set.

Jim’s tummy gurgles with happiness. He is leaning drowsily against Bones’ shoulder, starting to nod, when a loud banging interrupts thoughts of pillowing his head in Leonard’s lap and falling asleep.

McCoy says, “I’ll get it,” but Jim tells him to keep his spot on the couch warm and moans his way into standing and shuffling to the door.

He unlocks it and opens it an inch or two, mumbling a “Hello?”

Frank Rand glares at Jim in return, and Jim immediately loses all sense of peace. Making a snap decision, Kirk steps outside and pulls the door closed behind him. He folds his arms. “What do you want, Frank?”

The man is angry—nervous, too, by the way his fingers fumble at his hip. Perhaps he is missing his weapon. Rand is not in uniform, wearing a simple plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots. “Don’t fuck around, Kirk,” Frank hisses. “Tr— _he_ told you to keep your mouth shut, so you’d better do it.”

Jim grinds his teeth. “I have, you son of a bitch. But more out of kindness to Janice than you, Frank. You know how much that would hurt your daughter? Finding out her old man’s a dirty cop.”

Rand starts forward, seething, but catches his reaction and quells it. The man glances around quickly before turning his attention back to Jim. “ _Shut up._ ”

Jim smiles nastily.

Frank leans in, pokes his finger into Kirk’s chest. “This isn’t just about you, Kirk. Keep your _friend_ out of the station, you hear me? If he doesn’t stop asking questions...” Rand does not need to finish that threat.

Jim slowly unfolds his arms. “Who?” He swallows hard, already anticipating the answer.

Frank eyes him for a long minute. “You don’t know?”

“No!” snaps Jim. “Do you think I’d let anyone I cared about get close to this shit?”

Rand chooses not to respond to that outburst. He tells Jim, “The lawyer. Tell him to stay home.”

Jim leans against the door. “I will,” he says grimly.

The deputy nods once, sharply, and steps back. His parting words are softly spoken, oddly grave. “I don’t like you, Kirk, and I expect I never will. If you don’t jeopardize my family, I won’t touch yours. So you keep that cock-sucking trap sealed tight, you hear?”

Rand doesn’t wait for an answer. He pivots on his heel and trudges away, pulling up the collar of his shirt like turning a coat lapel up against prying eyes. Jim takes a moment to collect himself before going back into his apartment.

He doesn’t really mean to but the force of his anger has him slamming the door closed.

McCoy just looks at him from the couch. “Annoying neighbor?” asks the man mildly.

Jim misses nothing. “How much of that did you hear?”

Leonard’s face falls. “How did you know?”

“You’re sitting on the opposite side of the couch than you were when I left.”

“Ah hell.” McCoy looks annoyed at his lack of subterfuge skills.

Jim paces to the kitchen and back. “How much, Bones?” he commands, feeling unbalanced. How deep is Frank Rand in with Trelane? He had assumed the deputy was a willing party to Trelane’s scheming but maybe...

“Jim.”

Kirk realizes that McCoy is repeating his name. He stops pacing (makes his leg hurt a little, anyway). “Tell me.”

McCoy says earnestly, “I couldn’t hear you that well. Just pieces. But it was that asshole of an officer, wasn’t it?”

He looks away. “Rand, yeah.”

McCoy grips the armrest of the couch. “I heard him tell you to keep your mouth shut. Did—did he do something to you, Jim? Is that why—"

Jim interrupts, “Don’t ask me, please.”

“Damn it, why won’t you talk to me!”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Spock?” counters Kirk, anger flaring again.

McCoy closes his mouth. Jim stalks closer.

“So you knew. Do you even realize the kind of shitstorm he could bring down on us if...” Jim almost gives away Trelane’s name.

Leonard stands up, face closed. “How can I know anything when you keep it all to yourself?”

“That’s not the point! The point is _he needs to stop._ ”

“Then you’ll have to be the one to make him, Jim, because I want to know as badly Spock does. Somebody _hurt_ you. You can’t expect us to let that go.”

Jim balls his fist, overwhelmed with the need to punch something. Except there is nothing he can safely hit. “I don’t want this!” he cries in frustration. “I don’t want you in the middle of it!”

“Tough shit,” says Leonard, watching Jim’s movements closely.

Jim turns away. “Just—you need to go now, Bones.”

At the man’s humorless snort, Jim frowns.

McCoy states, “I’m stayin’” like Jim doesn’t have a say-so.

“No,” argues Kirk pointedly. “I’m kicking you out.”

“Can’t kick out your new roommate. That’s mean.”

The world tilts under Jim’s feet.

“I’m makin’ a decision—that offer to live here? I accept.” Bones purposefully plops back down on the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table. “Now run along ‘n fetch me a beer.”

Jim catches his traitorous body in the act of ambling stupidly towards the refrigerator. He makes a sound of disbelief. So he turns around, tosses out in aggravation, “Get it yourself!” and heads for his bedroom to contemplate how he lost the battle before he was aware of stepping onto the field.

Of course, by the time Jim is done sulking in his bedroom (and trying to figure out if he had that many sweater-vests in his closet or if the women in his life are making fun of him), Bones is snoring on his couch. The thought of coming home to find McCoy sprawled so openly, trustingly, washes away the last of Jim's irritation.

He is going to be living with Bones, which can't be anything other than a small dream come true.

How long will it last, though? And how long can Jim keep Bones—and Spock—safe?


	19. Part Nineteen

Two days later, Jim waits until Bones has left to catch the bus that morning, pretending to still be sound asleep, before he sneaks out of his bedroom, fully clothed, and goes outside to wait impatiently for Nyota. Before she can put her car into park upon arrival, he is jerking open the passenger-side car door and climbing inside the vehicle.

Uhura eyes him. “In a hurry?”

He bounces his right leg like a man on a caffeine-high. “C’mon let’s go already!”

“Does Leonard need a—?”

“Nope. Caught the bus.” Jim doesn’t ask how she knows Bones is now living at his apartment when it’s only been three days.

McCoy had taken off work the day following his announcement of becoming Jim’s roommate to clean out his motel room. They borrowed Pavel’s sister to help with the moving of Bones’ stuff, though there was never really any intention of making her help; mostly Jim and Leonard tossed bags into the bed of Winona’s truck while Sasha watched them curiously and ate a popsicle. The two men unloaded McCoy’s meager belongings into Jim’s apartment, again with Sasha watching raptly, and then all of them drove to the Ice Cream Shoppe afterward as a reward for a hard day’s labour.

That was just loads of fun, the driving, because Leonard refused to sit behind the wheel but kept a hawk’s eye on the recovering (apparently mentally inept) Jim who drove the entire way, making him stay ten mph under the speed limit.

Never again. Jim can be only so indulgent. Bones, it turns out, is the backseat driver from Hell.

Also through it all, Jim had the opportunity to observe how McCoy treated Sasha—and he couldn't help but wonder if Bones spoiling her was merely an extension of how much McCoy missed his own daughter, Joanna. It was a sad thought, so he didn't dwell on it long.

Uhura pulls out of the apartment complex. “I wouldn’t have minded driving you to the garage and Leonard to the clinic.”

“I know,” Jim replies. “Though if you get me to Jose’s, I swear my transportation problem will be solved by this afternoon.”

She says pointedly, “It’s a general consensus that you aren’t allowed to have another motorcycle for at least one year.”

Jim turns to stare at her. “I was a perfectly safe on a motorcycle! And _who_ makes up the ‘general consensus’?!”

“Everybody,” Nyota supplies vaguely.

Jim crosses his arms. “If I want a bike, I’ll get a bike.”

She laughs. “Act your age, Kirk.”

He pokes out his bottom lip for good measure. Uhura simply shakes her head, activates her left turn signal, and pulls into the auto shop’s parking lot. Jim thanks her for the ride.

“Jim, want me to come get you for lunch?” she calls after him.

“I’m good,” he yells back.

Jim sidles around the front door and heads to the back of the garage. Jose will be in the office this early in the morning, frowning into a cup of coffee until he is fully awake. Jim carefully and quietly eases open the side entrance and slips inside the garage.

The tension draining from him could be a physical sensation, he feels it so keenly. Jim trots over to the other end of the garage to the sheet-covered Corvette and lifts up the corner to take a peek at it. “Hello, baby,” he croons. “Did you miss me?”

Unable to resist, Jim strips off the sheet completely and pops the hood to see what kind of progress Jose has made in Kirk’s absence. He is so distracted—muttering to himself and the car—by the lack of changes (he can’t find any, strangely enough) that the shadow sneaking up on Jim doesn’t get noticed until the last second.

Kirk yelps, accidently banging his head on the opened hood, when Jose says in his ear, “You ain’t supposed to be here, _chico_.”

Jim steps away from the Corvette, rubbing the top of his head. “Don’t do that, Jose. One concussion is enough.”

Jose instantly goes from amused to worried, bordering freaked-out. “ _Dios!_ Your momma—she’s going to murder me in my sleep! Does it hurt? Do you need an ambulance? Are you bleeding?” He tries to look at the top of Jim’s head.

Jim dances out of the man’s reach and raises a hand to stave off the rapid-fire questions. “Whoa, I’m fine, Jose!” He grins reassuringly, suppressing the urge to wince. “I don’t have a concussion anymore. We’re cool, okay?”

Jose stares at Jim for a long moment then narrows his eyes. “I heard it takes at least two weeks to get over a concussion.”

“Nah,” says Jim, glad there are no pesky doctors around to contradict him. “I’m good as new. Now, please explain why she—“ He gestures at the Sting Ray. “—is missing her new coat. We placed the order for paint weeks ago.”

Jose shrugs. “I wanted to wait on you.”

“Ah, c’mon,” teases Kirk, though he is pleased. “You can’t leave her naked!”

“When you’re ready,” Jose says firmly, “we will paint her.”

“How about now?”

“No.”

“ _Jose_.”

“I have something better,” his boss explains, motioning Jim to follow him. They round the outside of the garage, heading for a fenced-in lot adjacent to the building. This is where they park the cars they have yet to work on when the garage is full, and where Jose stores the old clunkers Jose likes to collect. Jim has often told the man he is on his way to owning a junkyard rather than a respectable business. Jose always says, “Someday you may want a scrap from that yard.”

Jim’s eyes catch a familiar decal as they pick their way through the weeds. He veers off to investigate.

It’s his bike, what’s left of it. Jim crouches down and runs a hand over the twisted rear frame, picking out bits of gravel. He takes inventory of the damage: bent exhaust pipe; scraps and dents from the tumble; chipped sensors and loosened valves; and the right rearview mirror is missing.

“It’d take a lot of work to bring her back.” Jose squats next to Jim. “I had it hauled outta the pit, though, in case you wanted to try.”

“I don’t know,” Jim says. “It might be cheaper to buy a used one and fix that up.” A lot of parts would need replacing, and he’s never been much of a welder.

Jose makes a noise of agreement. Then he says, somewhat offhandedly, “A fall like that—it’s a miracle the gas tank didn’t ignite.”

Jim says, “It should have, though.”

“Couldn’t. No gas in the tank.”

_Meaning someone wanted it to be found and identified as more than a pile of burnt metal and melted plastic._

Jim turns, opening his mouth to speak, but closes it hastily. Saying anything, particularly in surprise, would ruin his story. Instead Jim shrugs and stands up, brushing dirt from his jeans. “What do you want to show me?”

Jose does not remark on Jim’s lack of confirmation about the gas tank. They bypass a few loose tires in the yard. Jose points out a distinct shape.

Jim’s heart thumps in his chest. He hurries to get a closer look. “Is that—oh God, a Shovelhead... 1979?”

“1976. Not bad, yeah?”

Jim rounds on Jose. “Why do you have a 1976 Harley, and why didn’t I know about it?!”

Jose grins. “Didn’t wanna make you cry, not since you were so proud of driving that Honda crap.”

“Hey, don’t diss the Honda. It was affordable.”

“Mmm,” says Jose. “What do you think I could get for this baby?”

Jim eyes it critically, taking in the overall appearance and inspecting it the best he can without seeing it in action. “Does she run?”

“Good enough. She’s been rebuilt mostly. Definitely needs a tune-up before hitting the pavement, though.”

“$15,000, maybe. It’s the name, man. You want a Harley, you pay for a Harley.”

“Well, I suppose I could give you a deal. You clean her up, and we’ll work something out.”

Jim sucks in a breath. _Yes_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he says with real regret, “I can’t.”

“You can’t what? Work on her, or afford her?”

“Afford her. I came to talk to you about that actually. I need a loaner for a while, until I can save up. I don’t care how bad it creaks.”

Jose scratches the back of his head. “There’s the old pickup. The steering’s shaky but it’s sound enough to get you around.” Then the man sighs, much to Jim’s surprise. “Look, Jim, how long you have been working for me?”

“Don’t know, forever?”

Jose smiles. “Feels like forever, _chico_. My point is—you and me—we’re family by now, and family takes care of each other.” Jose digs in his overall pocket and holds out a set of keys.

Jim takes the keys tentatively. Jose says, with a jerk of his chin at the Harley, “She’s yours. If you want to work a little overtime here and there to ease your conscience, fine. But I’d been saving her with you in mind. I figured if I waited long enough you would get tired of that old bike of yours.”

“Jose…”

“Like I said, she’s not ready to go so don’t thank me yet. You can use the pickup until then.”

Jim’s mouth softens into a smile. “I wasn’t going to thank you, old man—I was going to kiss you.”

That has Jose backing up, much to Jim’s amusement. “Family shake hands,” insists Jim’s boss.

“No puckering up?”

“I _will_ give you a second concussion.”

Jim tugs Jose into a manly, back-slapping bear hug. Jose attempts to look nonplussed when Jim lets him go but Jose’s dark eyes are bright. After that, they go back to the garage, Jim listening to Jose fill him in on the latest work orders and which jobs Jose wants Jim to take a look at.

Except when Jim reaches for a tool set, Jose stops him. “Not today.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Not you, too.”

“This ain’t about you, boy. It’s about protecting my hide.”

Kirk sighs, relinquishing the tools and plopping down on a stool. “I’m bored.”

“I imagine you are” is Jose’s dry reply. “You can clean my office.”

Jim’s middle finger succinctly expresses his opinion of that.

Jose tosses a dirty rag at him. “Just for that, you can do the _bookkeeping_.”

“ _Oh God_ ,” Jim groans. “Math.”

“Go play like a good little Kirk,” says the boss man with a hint of authority.

Jim takes his exile to Jose’s office with all the grace of a five-year old. He entertains himself by rifling through Jose’s desk drawers and counting stale peppermints in a jar set out for customers. Then he naps in a chair, only to wake up when Jose pokes him and says, “You’re snoring. Stop it.”

Jim wipes drool from the corner of his mouth. “What time is it?”

“Almost lunch.”

Kirk’s stomach likes that idea. Jose promises to close up shop for an hour and take them for burgers. Jim visualizes a dozen tasty cheeseburgers while he waits for Jose to finish up. He has had too much healthy food in the past week and he is missing some artery-clogging goodness right about now.

Lunch doesn’t quite work out as planned because the next thing Jim knows is there is yelling in the garage that sounds distinctly like Bones.

He peeks out of the office.

Scowl, finger-pointing, loud demands.

Definitely Bones.

Jim looks around for a place to hide in Jose’s office, but he is too big to fit under the desk.

“Jim!”

Jim freezes. He puts on his best smile and turns around, greeting innocently, “Hiya, Bones!”

“You goddamn fool, I told you to stay home and where do I find you, the one place I…!”

Eventually Jim’s eyes begin to glaze over. He nods contritely at all the right moments.

Leonard runs out of breath, then gripes, “You aren’t even listening, are you?”

He shakes his head.

“I give up!” cries McCoy. “You want to spend your entire life brain-damaged—fine! No skin off my nose!”

“Jose won’t let me work,” Jim says sadly.

“Well at least _Jose_ uses his common sense,” the doctor says, beginning to wind down. “You, on the other hand, haven’t the sense God gave a goat!”

“I was bored at home.”

“Watch tv!”

“Did that. I watched Judge Judy ‘n Oprah ‘n The Young and the Restless.” Jim widens his eyes. “Did you know that almost everyone over the age of 30 in Genoa City has married or hooked up with everyone else in the same peer group?”

Jim can tell that Leonard is trying to suppress the amused quirk of his mouth. “How could you know that after only a few days of watching the soap opera?”

Jim blushes. “I might have done a little research—just a little. Victor is freakin' _awesome_ ," he mumbles under his breath. Jim decides to close his mouth before it betrays him further.

McCoy sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m still pissed but… how about food? Have you eaten?”

Lighting up at the sign that he is forgiven, Kirk whines about his empty stomach. Jose clears his throat. (Jim hadn’t realized the man was watching Bones rant with interest.)

“I was planning to take Jim to lunch. You should come.”

McCoy shifts uncertainly. “I don’t want to impose, sir.”

Jose asks, “Do you like baseball?”

“Played it into my teens,” responds the Southerner. “And of course, being from Georgia, I grew up watching the Atlanta Braves. My dad used to take me to some of their games.”

Jim’s boss takes this as a cue to argue the case of the Cincinnati Reds and before McCoy knows it, the doctor is following a chattering Jose toward a vehicle with Jim trailing behind both men. Turns out, Bones and Jose have plenty to talk about sports-wise (Jim didn’t realize Leonard read the sports section of the newspaper every morning like a ritual) and Jim is left to happily to stuff his face with as many cheeseburgers as he can manage—until, sadly, Bones makes him put down the third one.

Jim realizes later that Jose purposefully does not mention Jim’s work at the garage (or Jim’s new motorcycle, thank God) and Leonard seems to forget that he was mad at Jim for disobeying his doctor’s orders. Kirk isn’t stupid enough to remind McCoy of that fact, so he flies beneath the radar during lunch and enjoys being free from house-arrest.

He wonders even later than that, settling on the couch in his apartment beside Bones to watch a late night show, how it might have been that Bones found out Jim was at the garage. Did Nyota rat him out? Did she tell his mother at the diner, who in turn decided to call up Dr. McCoy? Or did it spread like gossip wildfire that Jim had returned to work?

It is simply amazing, sometimes, how quickly a tidbit of news travels in Riverside. Jim decides he needs to be more careful in the future. It wouldn't do to have his dealings with Trelane become public, not until Trelane is permanently behind bars.

~~~

Jim is almost resolved to forget that he is involved in an unpleasant situation. However, Trelane is not ready to let Kirk forget.

On Saturday, Jim is lounging on the couch with his eyes closed when Bones comes back from checking their mailbox. The television is just background noise while Jim has fun being lazy. The front door opens, and Leonard walks in, tossing the mail on the coffee table.

“Anything good?” Jim murmurs.

“Salespapers. Bills. Jim?”

“Yeah?” Jim peeks open one eye to look at Bones.

McCoy holds up a white business card. “This was in our box.”

Jim’s stomach makes a sudden lurch and he sits up, taking the card. One side is bare; the other has a telephone number. The lunch he had eaten threatens to make a reappearance. Jim swallows hard. “Huh,” he says, trying to sound baffled and not shocked. He had forgotten about the business card. Where did he leave it? The parking lot of the lumber mill? In his pocket, or Gary's truck?

Leonard eyes the pallor of his face. “What is it?”

He grins weakly. “The number of the receptionist in the front office? She stares at my ass every time I go in to pay the rent.”

McCoy replies slowly, “No, I don’t think that’s what it is. It means something else, doesn’t it?”

Why does Jim have to have an astute roommate? “Of course not.” He gets up and makes a show of throwing it into the trash can.

“Jim.”

“Forget it, Bones, seriously.” Jim resettles on the couch. “Wanna go see a movie tonight?”

At McCoy’s silence, Jim stills. He turns to look at Leonard. “Is that a bad idea?”

Leonard grimaces. “I, uh, made plans tonight.” At Jim’s downcast eyes, McCoy adds quickly, “Plans for both of us.”

Okay, plans don’t mean… why is Jim’s heart racing all of a sudden? “Hey, whatever you want to do.” He tries to sound relaxed.

Leonard says “Jim…” in such a way that completely shatters the kind of ‘plans’ Jim had been wistfully imagining.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“I invited Spock over.”

Dealing with Spock has certainly become one of the more difficult parts of Jim’s life. He had managed to catch the lawyer during lunch at the diner after Rand's warning and told him—albeit quietly—to stop bothering the Sherriff’s Department. Spock had not replied, simply stared at Jim until Kirk left him alone.

Jim says plaintively, “I can’t handle Spock right now.”

“Jim, I don’t think you’ve tried.”

“That’s not fair, Bones! Did he even tell you why I left his house?”

Leonard’s eyes flash with temper. “This is Spock we’re talkin’ about. Of course he told me! If you ask me, you’re the one making a mountain out of a mole hill. It was just a kiss.”

Jim grips the edge of the couch. “It wasn’t.”

Lips pressed together, McCoy doesn’t back down. “That’s all it was, a kiss, and you—acting like a teenage girl.”

Jim’s fingers are digging into the fabric of the couch. “Bones, shut _up_.”

“You didn’t think!” McCoy runs right over his words. “You got on your damned bike with your damned leg and look what happened.”

Bone could be hitting him and it would hurt less.

His roommate finishes, “We try to protect you, Jim, but Spock and I can’t protect you from yourself.”

“That’s your problem, Bones,” Jim says as he deliberately rises from the couch with controlled movements. “You _assume_ I need protection. I don’t. I didn’t before you and _Spock_ showed up, and I don’t need it now.” Jim breathes deeply. “And that kiss? It mattered to me. I’m in love with you, you jackass. I don’t make a habit of kissing men who aren’t _you._ ” He laughs bitterly. “But apparently you do.”

Leonard flinches, but Jim has no sympathy for him. He steps up to McCoy. “That’s the issue here. How many more times are you going to get drunk and wake up to find yourself with Spock? I’m the sober choice but he’s the indulgence.”

“Jim, stop it—"

“I can’t! Don’t you get it? I can’t stop!” Jim cries. “I want you, and you want Spock, and Spock thinks we all should take turns like we’re on a fucking carnival ride!”

“And why can’t we?” demands Leonard.

Jim makes an inarticulate noise. “It’s crazy!”

“Well I don’t know what else to do!” McCoy shouts back. “I want you both! So if you’ve got a better idea, then, goddamn it, TELL ME!”

They are an arm’s length apart, both breathing hard, at a standstill.

Jim finally admits, “I don’t know what we can do, Bones, but I won’t be the guy you experiment with until you decide you really want Spock and ditch me. I’m not that guy, okay?”

Leonard’s face softens. “Jim, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know you wouldn’t mean to but you can’t make that promise, so don’t even try.”

“I’m not pretending I’m a saint. All I am is a recently divorced man who just discovered he loves two decent men, neither of whom deserves to be hurt.”

Jim lets out a short, somewhat hollow laugh. “Told you—crazy.”

McCoy says wryly, “There’s no doubt in my mind that this is fucked up, kid, but I can’t help it.” His expression changes to a more serious look, one that always makes Jim’s pulse race. “You make me laugh, Jim, and give me hope. I need that. And Spock—with him, I feel safe, even when he irritates the hell out of me. I need that, too. Shit, you don’t know how scared all this makes me.”

Unlike McCoy, Jim isn’t afraid to love. “It’s the fear that lets you know it’s real.”

“So why do I feel like I’m the only one who is afraid, Jim?”

“I already told you what I’m scared of.”

“Of being the third wheel.”

Jim nods. McCoy reaches out and tips his chin up. For a moment, they say nothing, connected only by the light touch. Leonard brushes his thumb along the side of Jim’s jaw.

Jim swallows against the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to lose you, Bones. Not to Spock—not to Georgia.” He cannot say _not to Joanna_ because he could never ask that of McCoy.

“I don’t want to lose you either. That’s why I was so mad, because you taking off—all I think of is you, gone, ending up somewhere that I can't find you in case you need me.”

“I’m used to it,” Jim confesses. “The on-my-own part. Even when I had a girlfriend, I was free.”

Leonard drops his hand back to his side. “I'm not trying to cage you, Jim, but it’s invaluable to me to know you’re all right.”

“Something to work on then?” Jim asks lightly, choosing to back down from the stew of emotions between them.

McCoy nods, silently agreeing to let the matter drop.

Jim sighs, feeling like he has come full circle. “I still don’t want to see Spock.”

“Do you really dislike him that much?”

Surprised, Jim says, “No, I like him. I—" He thinks of the kiss, that one he had claimed mattered because it wasn’t with Leonard—which wasn’t really the truth. Jim had enjoyed the kiss, right down to the marrow of his bones. “I’m not sure he has thought this through.”

Leonard’s face could only be described as tickled. “The one thing Spock does is think. Way too much thinking.”

“But he can’t be serious.”

“Oh, he can—and is. Utterly serious.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

McCoy grins a little. “The trick to handling Spock is to let him think he’s won until the very last second—and then you shoot his assumptions full of holes. It’s a tactic I’ve seen him use in court.”

Jim rubs his forehead. “You mean you use his own technique against him?”

“Only when it’s about the stuff he doesn’t get, relationships being one of them. Did I ever tell you I met his parents once?”

Jim puts on his expectant, _please read me a bedtime story, Mom_ face.

“Well, Amanda—that is Spock’s mother—wasn’t on speaking terms with her husband when they unexpectedly showed up at the university to check up on their son. Spock, bless his heart, said his mother was reacting poorly to a statement his father had made and she would see the error of her ways.”

Jim presses a fist against his mouth.

“And well, I said ‘we’ll just see.’ Spock’s got this rather sweetly ignorant idea that his father is larger-than-life and can be cowed by no one. Anyway, we all go out to dinner—don’t ask how I got roped into that—and what do you know! Sarek ended up making a public apology to his wife. The women in the room cheered. I almost snorted wine up my nose because I had never seen Spock so flabbergasted.”

They laugh together, the tension gone at last and even ground restored.

McCoy ends with “Later, I took the liberty of explaining to Spock why the wife is usually right.” Leonard continues to chuckle to himself at the memory.

Jim doesn’t know how Bones did it, but all he can picture now is a younger Spock as apt to make silly mistakes as the next person. By the look in McCoy’s eyes, that was Bones’ intention all along.

Jim gives in, not verbally of course, but by sitting down on the couch instead of grabbing his jacket and leaving. He thinks about what they have said to one another, he and Leonard, about the small truths revealed and the realization that Bones is no more experienced with this new territory they are heading into than Jim.

What remains to be seen is if they can find a path they can all walk, together.


	20. Part Twenty

Spock is precisely on time, according to Leonard.

Jim remains on the couch, arms crossed but resigned to this meeting. When Spock doesn’t greet him, though, as Spock greets Leonard, Jim turns to stare at the man.

“Hello,” he says pointedly.

Spock lifts a disdainful eyebrow.

Oh, hell no. Jim pops up from the couch and marches right into Spock’s personal space, ignoring Leonard’s warning “Jim.”

“Hello,” he repeats slowly. “That’s common courtesy, Mr. Spock. You’re in my house. I expect you to use it.”

“I am aware of the rules of proper guest etiquette, far better than yourself.”

Jim sputters. “Y-You…”

McCoy interjects knowingly, “It’s hard to find a word that describes him just right when he’s being this arrogant. I almost want to call him something silly. But my mama taught me manners, too.”

Spock looks at McCoy. “You insult me frequently, sir. I suspect your manners are subject to whim.”

Leonard narrows his eyes and bounces once on the balls of his feet in place, like he’s thinking really hard on that derogatory nickname.

Jim backs away just enough to give Spock breathing room. “We’ll have to be civil to each other, Spock,” he says, tired of fighting all of a sudden. “Bones is just going to keep tossing us together until he is satisfied we can get along.”

Spock shifts his stance ever-so-slightly. “I do not enjoy my feelings of negativity toward your person, Mr. Kirk, yet I find that I act on them without warning.”

“It’s called bein' mad at Jim” Spock is informed duly by the Southerner.

“I am not angry,” Spock says quickly. “I am displeased by our present situation.”

“And what would that situation be?” asks Kirk.

Spock addresses Leonard. “Jim has demanded that I desist in my investigation of his accident.”

“Jim has the right to ask that,” McCoy says gently. “It’s up to him, really, to tell us what happened.”

“Hey,” Jim tries to interrupt.

“How do we convince him of the sincere nature of our concern?” Spock asks the doctor.

“I think he already gets that, Spock.”

Spock and McCoy both look at Jim. “Then it should be no hardship to tell us what we wish to know,” concludes the lawyer.

Ha, they think this double-teaming works against the mighty Kirk. (Okay, so maybe it does a little bit.)

Jim grimaces. “I trust you both, I do, but if I tell you I am exposing you to danger. Believe me when I say that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Do you anticipate that you might succeed as one where you would succeed as three?” asks Spock, his dark eyes fixed on Kirk.

Not really. “What I anticipate is ending this topic of conversation,” he says stubbornly. “I’m not risking your lives, end of story.”

Spock says, “Your choice of words gives me grave reservation, Jim. You talk of death, by which I can only deduce that you remain party to threatening circumstances.”

“What Spock means to say is that whoever thinks he can get away with threatenin’ you,” Leonard says, his voice hard, “is a damn fool. You tell us who it is and we’ll take care of him.”

Jim can’t help it, he laughs. “What are you, my bodyguards?”

“At this moment, we are your friends,” Spock clarifies.

He feels warm. “I’m grateful for that, truly, but I hope you know that being my friend right now isn’t very safe.”

Spock tilts his head slightly. “Yet you have a plethora of acquaintances you call friends, even family though they bear no bloodline connection to you. Do you believe they would also refuse such an honor when you are in need of them?”

He knows they wouldn’t, haven’t. There is little Jim can do to argue that point with Spock.

“Are we wearin’ you down yet, Jimmy?”

He observes the tender amusement in Bones’ eyes. His mouth says, traitor to his brain, “Keep trying. You might win.”

Then he wishes he could smack himself without looking foolish.

“Let us hope so.” Spock turns to Leonard. “Might I have glass of water?” Meaning _I wish to speak to Jim in private, please._

Leonard takes his time procuring that glass of water.

Spock says, facing away from Kirk, “I explained the events which led up to your retreat from my home.”

Jim winces. “I’m sorry I tricked you.”

Spock only says, “I shall be more diligent in the future.”

Jim sits down on the couch, pointing at the spot next to him. Spock follows the silent instruction and settles next to Kirk.

“Bones and I just discussed some of that, actually.” Jim pauses. “He didn’t understand why the kiss bothered me so much.”

“Nor do I,” says the other man.

“Spock,” Jim turns to look at the lawyer, “Maybe you didn’t think so, but it could have been considered cheating on Bones.”

Spock blinks. “It is not ‘cheating’ if the three of us are in mutual agreement.”

Jim makes a sound of exasperation. “ _I_ haven’t agreed to anything, Spock.”

“Do you not consider the solution reasonable?”

“It’s unusual,” Jim hedges. Then he gives up and decides to say, “It isn’t likely to work for long, Spock.”

Spock is unperturbed by this prediction. “We would enter the agreement as a whole and, should relations dissolve, we will nullify the agreement as a whole.”

Jim’s mouth works for a moment. “Spock, are you saying… all or nothing?”

Spock’s expression clearly reads _Why would you assume otherwise?_

McCoy clears his throat. “That’s how Spock thinks, Jim. Either we’re a weird triad couple or nobody gets anybody else.”

Jim turns. Bones is standing behind the couch, Spock’s glass of water in his hand. He has probably been there since the beginning.

“But how is that fair to Spock?” Jim asks.

Leonard’s face is surprised. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been in love with you for _years!_ So if he and I can’t—" Jim reddens. “—work things out between us, then he loses you too. Really, it’s unfair.”

“A gamble is not without risks,” Spock says austerely.

“You said you don’t gamble,” Jim retorts.

Leonard intercedes, “Okay! No petty arguin’. Look, Jim, Spock’s intractable once he sets his mind to something. You remember what I said earlier?”

Jim’s mouth quirks. “Yeah.”

“So if he’s wrong, well, he’s wrong. But I..." Leonard hesitates.

Kirk guesses, “You want to try.”

McCoy nods.

“Can I have time to think about it?”

“As long as you need, darlin’,” says Bones, “just don’t take forever.”

Jim tugs at his bottom lip for a second. “Can you ask a question, Bones?”

“Shoot, kid.”

Jim looks to Spock though he is talking to Bones. “Before you were… reluctant. What changed your mind?”

McCoy circles the couch to face Jim. “You did.”

He waits for the rest of the explanation.

Leonard hands the glass of water to Spock. “Or maybe it’s better to say Mitchell’s phone call did. He said you had been found, that he was bringing you to the clinic and you might be in bad condition. I told God if he just gave me the chance to keep you alive, that I would stop giving into my doubts.” McCoy adds, quite simply, “God kept his end of the bargain.”

Spock sounds thoughtful. “You told me once that you did not agree with such traditions.”

Leonard shrugs. “I’m only human, Spock. Some days it’s good to be religious.”

For a moment, Jim thinks about kissing the soft corner of Leonard’s mouth, because really no one has said anything sweeter to him.

McCoy, who seems to know what Jim is thinking ( _is he really that obvious?_ Jim wonders), just snorts. “New rule,” he informs Kirk. “For every kiss you give me, you have to kiss Spock too.”

Spock looks intrigued by this new rule. Jim ducks his head and excuses himself to take a bathroom trip, whereupon he locks the bathroom door and tries to fit his head under the running sink facet until his color is back to normal.

When Jim resurfaces and tracks determinedly back into the living room, he says, “This rule had better not just apply to me.”

“Of course not,” Leonard says, and takes Jim's face between his hands and kisses the breath out of Jim.

Jim pants a little afterward. “Aren't you going to kiss Spock now?”

“Already did,” says McCoy somewhat smugly.

Spock’s ears are slightly red; otherwise Jim would be none-the-wiser that Spock had been sharing an intimacy with Leonard while he flailed in the bathroom. He makes a snap decision.

“Addendum to the new rule,” announces James Kirk. “The person not engaged in the kiss has to be present to observe said-kissing.”

“And if the third party is not present?” inquires Spock.

Jim grins. “That person gets a freebie.”

Leonard swats Jim upside the head, a blow which Jim ducks. He waits until Spock is standing to sneak a hasty peck on the man’s lips, almost like a test.

Maybe next time he’ll take more liberties with his ‘freebie’ but until then... Jim slips on his jacket, calling, “Let’s go to the diner. I’m starving.”

McCoy and Spock are in perfect agreement.

~~~

The Diner is fairly crowded for a typical Saturday night. Maybe Riverside High had a home football game.

Jim leans on his elbows, sitting next to Scotty, and tries to keep their conversation private. “So what you do you think?”

Montgomery Scott frowns down at his plate of food. “I dinnae know…”

“Hey, there’s no harm in finding out, right?”

Scotty looks sad. Uhura frowns in their direction as she stands by the kitchen window. “Some things're old news,” Scotty burbles into his glass of coca cola.

“Not this,” Jim emphasizes, voice firm. “You earned scholarship money, and you still want to go to college.”

“But me mother—"

“Wants you to be happy,” Jim says.

Scotty looks as doubtful as Jim feels. Kirk decides to use his trump card. “Look, if we get my mom involved, she could talk to your…”

“No!” almost-shrieks the man. Montgomery Scott hunkers over the diner counter when several people pause in their dinner and conversation to find the source of the outburst. “Blamey. It’s bad ‘nough havin’ her watch me diet ‘n do me laundry." The man whimpers. "We go grocery-shopping together."

Jim makes no attempt to hide his enjoyment of Scotty’s ‘suffering.’ “Mom is tough when she thinks she needs to be. Okay, Scotty, we’ll keep her out of this for now; but that means you have to let Mr. Spock inquiry after the money to the scholarship’s foundation board on your behalf.”

Scotty drops his head to his chest and sighs heavily. “It’s a long shot” is the man’s murmur.

Jim doesn’t bother to respond because he thinks getting that money won’t be as difficult as Scotty anticipates. No, the difficult part will be convincing Scotty to leave Riverside. Jim will prepare for that task, instead.

He turns around, intent on returning to the booth harboring Spock and Bones, but a terrible surprise awaits his approach. A person, already sitting in his place opposite of the two men.

Marlena Moreau.

Jim steels himself and plasters an insincere smile on his face. “Evening, Marlena,” he says, interrupting their conversation and not caring one whit that he does so. “Spending a Saturday night at the diner? Business or pleasure?”

“Both,” she replies too sweetly. Then her mouth curves into a wicked, knowing smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I stole your seat, _James_. I had needed to discuss a thing or two with Mr. Spock and Mr. McCoy.”

“Not a problem.” His smile is threatening to mutiny into something akin to a snarl. “But you’re done now.” It isn’t a question.

The flash of expression across her face is not very pleasant. Then Marlena slides out of the booth and brushes past Jim, murmuring “See you later, sugar.” He turns to watch her walk away, only to catch the look she shoots over her shoulder at him. It’s victorious.

His stomach sinks.

Jim doesn’t like games, particularly not the kind Marlena is capable of playing. Jim sits down with care, asking even more slowly, “How do you know Marlena?”

Bones’ eyes are fixed on the tabletop as he plays with his napkin. “Met her at the Trophy Club.”

Jim places his hands flat on the table, a gesture McCoy once made the first time they met and faced down Rand. He thinks for a moment, attempting to find a way to tread traitorously boggy ground. “Do you like the Trophy Club, Bones?” asks Kirk in a neutral voice. The Trophy Club is as well frequented for the bar as its dancers, so there’s no need to assume the worst. But Jim might be assuming the worst.

McCoy blushes. “I tried it out only one time—when I was in a bad mood.”

Jim leans back. “Well, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with the place, Bones. I’ve been there a few times myself.”

“Recently?” counters Leonard.

“No.”

McCoy doesn’t need to say anything else.

Jim guesses, “And Marlena was working?”

Now Leonard sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, and I was stinking drunk at the time, too. She tried to give me a lap dance but I told her I had used all my spare change at the bar. She sat in my lap anyway. We started talkin’ and…” McCoy grimaces.

“And?” Jim prompts, heart in his throat. He glances at Spock. There is blank, almost deadly calm in the man’s eyes. Jim shivers on instinct.

Leonard puts a hand over his eyes. “And I blabbed on about myself like a fool—about Joanna and Spock’s idea.”

This is worse than Jim imagined. He clenches a fist in his lap, out of sight. “Marlena’s all for it, am I right?”

“Yes,” inputs Spock, speaking for the first time. “She wishes to play the role of Mrs. McCoy—for ample compensation. She implies that compensation would also be necessary to buy her silence, should we deem to move ahead with the plan and not—“ A hint of disgust flashes through Spock’s eyes. “—allow her to ‘play the part.’”

Jim closes his eyes. “Oh Bones…”

“I know, Jim, I know. I messed up.”

“No,” he argues. “If Marlena was another kind of woman, she wouldn’t use your situation to blackmail you into paying her off. But honestly? She’s a bitch.”

“Is she the type of bitch to go to Georgia and make my life hell if I try to ignore her?” Leonard asks grimly.

“She doesn’t have any real ties to Riverside, so I know nothing of her past, Bones—but I’d bet that she would if she could.”

“That’s what I think too.”

Jim looks around the diner. Marlena is hanging around the jukebox, obvious in her observation of the three men. “Let’s go,” he says, already tugging on his jacket.

“We haven’t ordered.”

“Do you want to stay, Bones?”

“Hell no.”

Jim does not say another word, merely leads the other two men outside. He heads along the street sidewalk on foot and Spock and McCoy follow. He stops a few blocks down and turns.

“I’ll talk to Marlena,” Jim says bluntly.

Leonard frowns at him. “What good will that do?”

“I must agree with Leonard,” Spock says as well. “You would not be able to reason with her, as she has committed herself to her purpose.”

“I can talk to her,” insists Kirk, “and make her an offer.”

Worst case scenario, he calls up Trelane for money and uses it to shut up Marlena. The price for that action, however, might be so steep he can’t find his way out of the mire again. Jim swallows down the bad taste in his mouth and resumes walking, only to have Leonard catch hold of his shoulders before he goes too far.

“Jim, what do you mean?” demands McCoy.

“What?” he asks.

Leonard holds his gaze. “Whatever it is you’re planning, I don’t want you to do it.”

“It’s not dangerous,” he lies.

“I don’t believe you.”

“But you can’t stop me either.”

“I can beg,” says McCoy softly. “Please, Jim—"

Jim drags Leonard in and wraps his arms around the man. “Don’t, Bones.” _Don’t beg. I can’t stomach seeing you beg._

Spock is standing behind Leonard. He catches Jim’s eyes. The lawyer states flatly, “The only way to handle Ms. Moreau is to stand on equal footing.”

“We don’t know anything about her,” Jim says, releasing Leonard to look between the two men.

Spock’s dark eyes promise swift retaliation against Marlena. “By the end of the week,” answers the lawyer, ice lacing his voice, “Marlena Moreau will have no secrets of her own.”

Jim’s spine tingles with the hint of that dire promise.

Leonard, on the other hand, simply raises his eyebrow. “Calling in the big guns, Spock?”

“Indeed.” Spock turns and paces away.

Jim and Leonard are now the ones following behind. Jim sidles up to Bones to ask, “What are the big guns?”

McCoy cuts his eyes at Jim, perhaps measuring how Kirk might take the news. “His daddy,” explains the doctor.

Jim opens his mouth then closes it after nothing comes out.

“Sarek,” says Leonard McCoy, “has connections in all the right places. And an intelligence network you wouldn’t believe.”

Jim pauses to look around the seemingly innocuous street of Riverside, uneasy. Leonard takes his hand and gets him moving again. “Don’t worry about it,” Leonard remarks dryly. “I’m sure Spock’s father knows all about you by now.”

That thought does not comfort Jim Kirk at all.


	21. Part Twenty-One

On a day Jim is minding his own business in The Diner, head bent over a cup of coffee which he pensively contemplates, someone ruins it without a qualm. That someone is Marlena Moreau, the very person he is trying to ignore on his solitary lunch break.

But she is having none of that.

The waitress brushes an arm against him for the fifth time as she refreshes his coffee. He automatically shifts away, tightening his self-control.

Jim is supposed to keep his mouth shut and trust in Spock to handle the situation.

Four days later and Marlena is still a threat—and she knows it. “How was your sandwich, Jim?” the black-haired woman asks with a coo.

He shrugs, pushing his plate to the side. He had lost his appetite the moment Marlena took his order instead of Uhura, almost jumping at the chance to serve him with an innocent smile on her face. It seems the woman's new mission is to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

Jim pulls out his wallet, intending to keep his lunch break short, but Marlena’s hand on his arm causes him to freeze in place.

“Oh, I need your opinion on something!” she says, like she's going to ask if the color of her dress will please Leonard.

He glances over his shoulder and around the diner for a distraction. “Don’t you have other customers to harass?”

Her eyes grow chilly but her smile never falters. “It won’t take but a minute, Jim. Don’t be like this.”

Jim looks at her. “How do you want me to be then? Perfectly content to watch you ruin a good man’s life because of your selfishness?”

Marlena drops all pretense of a pleasant attitude. She snatches her arm back and wipes her hand on her apron like he is disgusting to touch. “What do you know!” Her eyes travel up and down his person and the tone of her voice indicates that she finds him lacking in some essential way. “You and your precious mother—the beloved Kirks of Riverside! You pretend to care about everyone but, really, you want to keep people in your debt, don’t you?”

He is stunned by the accusation. “You’re wrong. It’s not like that, Marlena.”

She leans in to say in a harsh whisper, “All your do-gooding has a price, Kirk, and one day your _friends_ will figure that out. I rather pity them.” Then the woman steps back, and after a toss of her hair and straightening her skirt, the angry side of Marlena is hidden again beneath the exterior of her wickedly curved lips and beautiful face.

Jim says nothing, simply places a sufficient amount of money by the diner's cash register and walks to the exit.

Uhura hurries up to him as he reaches for the door handle. “Jim, what was that?”

“What was what?” he asks mildly, turning.

Nyota considers him for a brief moment. “Marlena’s a real bitch sometimes. Whatever venom she’s spouting today, ignore her.”

“You have my word that I will,” he promises and kisses her quickly on the cheek to indicate that he isn't in a sour mood (which is a lie).

Nyota sighs and returns to work.

Then Jim turns to the door again and almost collides with a man coming through it. He begins to apologize but the words die his throat when he recognizes the other man.

Trelane looks amused. “Do pardon me! I believe I was not paying close attention to my surroundings.” Trelane’s mouth curves at Jim’s lack of response.

“Oh, Trelane!”

Trelane’s smile fully forms into a grin as he manages to appear surprised at Marlena rushing over. “Hello, dear. I hope you aren’t overly busy.”

Marlena is lit with a genuine glow. Trelane casually draws her in for a kiss and afterwards settles a hand at the small of her back.

At last, the waitress seems to notice that Jim is standing there. She looks from Jim to Trelane, lips pursed, and says almost coquettishly, “Trelane, darling, I haven't introduced you to—"

“James Tiberius Kirk,” cuts in Trelane smoothly. He meets Jim’s eyes. “He’s exactly like you described him, Marlena. How quaint.”

“Quaint isn’t the word I would use,” she retorts. Then she tugs on Trelane’s arm. “Wait here. I want to tidy up first.”

“You are always beautiful,” the man responds, not even glancing at her.

Nevertheless, Marlena preens as she walks away, hips swaying, and the staccato of her heels fades into background noise.

Trelane twirls the umbrella in his left hand. “Why, you haven’t said a word, Mr. Kirk!”

Jim isn’t sure that he can speak, not with dread choking him. He tries anyway. “What is there to say?”

“How about ‘what may I do to please you, master?’” By the look in Trelane’s eyes, he is loving his little joke.

Jim has lost his sense of humor in the past few minutes. He bites back a very rude _fuck off, asshole_. “You aren’t my master,” Kirk says, voice flat and hard, “so don’t expect me to do anything you want.”

Trelane is unperturbed. “We’ll see,” he merely says. "By the way, how is your head injury?"

Jim yanks open the door with more force than necessary and walks out of the diner. Only the door does not shut behind him because Trelane is holding it open with the end of his umbrella.

“Kirk!” calls the politician. “I’ve sent, shall we say, a trifle of a _gift_ your way! Enjoy!”

Jim climbs into his pickup, starts it, and peels out of the parking lot of the diner. When he rolls to a stop at an intersection some blocks away, he realizes that his hands are shaking. Jim drops his forehead to the steering wheel and takes several shallow breaths.

The car behind his pickup blares its horn with impatience. Jim collects himself.

It makes him sick to his stomach wondering what Marlena has told Trelane. Not about him but about Bones and Joanna. And with Trelane backing Marlena, how can Jim—even Spock—hope to keep her from blackmailing McCoy?

~~~

“What’s bothering you, Jim?” Bones asks as they relax that evening in the apartment.

Jim drags his eyes away from the television and sips at his beer. “Nothing, really. I need a part for one of my projects at work and it might take some time to find it.”

Leonard settles on the couch beside him. “Are you sure that’s it?”

Jim smiles at McCoy. “What are you—my mother?” he jokes.

The corner of Leonard’s mouth quirks. “Hardly. But if I were, I’d be wondering why I didn’t stick with the birth control pills.”

He grins. “You know you love me.”

“I might,” says his roommate, slouching and stealing the remote control off of Jim’s thigh.

They enjoy a companionable silence for the next hour, though Jim knows McCoy hasn’t dropped the subject entirely. At one point during a commercial break, Leonard remarks out of nowhere, “I’m gonna keep asking until you give me a real answer.”

Jim replies, “I know.” Then the television sitcom is back and he doesn’t have to think for a while.

~~~

The man who walks into the garage is not anyone Jim knows. He wipes his hands as best he can on a rag (and his overalls) and calls, “Can I help you, Sir?”

The stranger stops, turns, and glances his way and stiffens almost imperceptibly. Then he approaches Jim, and Jim opens his mouth to repeat his question but the man walks by him dismissively. The man lays his hand on the newly painted red Corvette.

Jim says sharply, “Hey, don’t touch that!”

“Where did you acquire this?” Jim is asked. The man never looks up from his almost greedy perusal of ‘65 Sting Ray.

“It belongs to one of our customers which,” Jim emphasizes, “you are not.”

The man turns to consider Jim, and in turn Jim considers him. He has to be in his 50s, tall, his clothes declaring a moderate wealth; his hair is still quite spectacularly dark expect for elegant graying at the temples, and the structure of the man's face strikes Jim as familiar, so much so that he wonders _should I know him?_

Then Kirk sees how the man is standing, with his hands clasped behind his back and not a hint of improper posture.

The stranger lifts one eyebrow, and Jim makes a strangled noise of his disbelief.

“James Kirk, I presume. I am Sarek,” the man introduces himself. “You are... acquainted with my son.”

The way Sarek pauses before finishing that last sentence indicates that Sarek is fully aware of Jim and Spock’s type of acquaintance—even when Jim himself is not certain of what it is.

Jim nods dumbly. “Hello, Mister..." _Oh God, what is Spock’s last name? Or is Spock a last name? But it sounds so awkward to say Mr. Sarek Spock!_

“Sarek will do,” offers Spock’s father.

Jim steps forward for a handshake, hoping to smooth over his bumbling behavior, but that’s when Jim realizes how he must look. He immediately tucks his offensively grease-blackened hand into a pocket of his overalls to hide it.

Sarek pivots with grace and strides out of the garage, clearly expecting that Jim will follow him. Kirk does so, like an innocent lamb possibly heading to the slaughter house and bleating happily all the way.

He catches up to Sarek. “So, ah, when did you come into town?”

“Recently.”

A black, gleaming Mercedes-Benz sedan is parked by the front entrance of the auto shop—the overly expensive and grandiose kind. Jim doubts Sarek brought it in for repairs.

Nevertheless, he says, “Nice car” in hopes that Sarek is having authentic car trouble (something he can handle) and not just seeking Jim out (something which spooks Jim).

“It is a rental,” replies the older man. “It serves its purpose.”

Meaning, no doubt, that to Sarek it isn’t the best luxury car he has ever made do with. Jim’s inferiority complex is growing by the second.

He clears his throat, only realizing belatedly that Jose has not come out of his office. Jose almost always insists on handling the customers personally; Jim’s boss even makes a point of greeting the mailman every morning.

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of Kirk’s neck. Sarek stands by the Mercedes-Benz, examining Jim in a way not dissimilar to his perusal of the Corvette.

“Where’s, um, where’s Spock?” manages Jim under that penetrating stare. Good, he doesn’t sound too nervous.

“Spock and his mother are improving the suitability of his home.”

Jim thinks Spock’s home is perfectly suitable. Okay, maybe it’s a little intimidating and sterile-feeling but Spock is only one man in a spacious house and he most certainly is not messy. It dawns on Jim that Sarek, like Spock, might not have an issue with the state of the house. That leaves Spock’s mother as the complainant.

Sarek’s deep voice interrupts Jim’s musings. “It is rare that my son calls us for the explicit purpose of proposing a visit.”

Jim’s fingers fiddle with the rag also occupying his pocket. “Spock said something about not having seen his parents in a long time.” Oh jeez, did he just insinuate Sarek is a bad parent?

Foot-in-mouth syndrome is the bane of Jim Kirk’s existence.

“I assure you, that is no fault of my wife’s or mine. Spock insists on his independence. While my wife and I may make the odd exception, we have learned that Spock will initiate a visit when his schedule permits such.”

“I’m sorry,” he almost stammers. “I didn’t meant to imply—"

Sarek opens the driver-side car door, effectively ignoring Jim’s apology. “I am here to extend my wife’s invitation of dinner this evening.” The look Sarek levels is unreadable but Jim has the feeling that he would be making a grave mistake if he declined.

And Jim is too curious to say no, in all truthfulness. Perhaps his “Yes!” is a bit too enthusiastic?

With a nod, Sarek tells Kirk the time to arrive at Spock’s house. Sarek remarks in passing, “I have already spoken with Dr. McCoy. He accepted also. I understand that your only relative in Riverside is your mother, Mr. Kirk. If she so wishes, we would be pleased to have her company as well.”

Jim is of the opinion that the better armed he is—person-wise—at this dinner, the more likely he can deflect Spock’s parents’ conversation onto other various (non-Jim) guests. “I will ask her,” he tells Sarek.

Watching Sarek drive away does not negate his sense of impending doom. Marching back into the garage, Jim finds Jose attempting to look like he hadn’t been secretly spying on Jim’s meeting with Sarek.

“Where were you?” demands Kirk.

Jose snorts. “Hey, I tried to intervene but did you _see_ that guy? I bet my credit limit wouldn’t cover the cost of his shoes! I was basically sent back to my office and told not to interfere.”

Jim asks plaintively, “What if he had been a bad guy, Jose?”

“I only listened because he identified himself as Mr. Spock’s father come to pay a visit to Spock’s 'much spoken of friend.'” Jose’s eyes spark with interest. He leans forward in his chair. “Why? Do you think the old guy was carrying a gun?”

Jim quivers at the thought. “Of course not. He’s a government official.”

“Which government?”

“UK, I think.” Jim doesn’t like Jose’s expression. “What?”

“He doesn’t sound British.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “So?”

Jose crosses his arms and looks thoughtful. “Maybe it’s a _secret_ branch of the British government.”

“You watch too much Bond, Jose.”

Jose shrugs. “Hey, I said maybe. I’m sure your Mr. Spock has explained exactly what it is that his father does.”

Jim can’t answer that because, in fact, Spock has never talked much about Sarek and what he has said is plenty vague. Jim curses his boss’s name periodically throughout the rest of the day for putting the ridiculous idea into his head.

Completely absurd! Sarek works for the government—doing stuff—and travels a lot and “has connections.” Not secret-agent-like at all.

Later, when Bones leans against the open door of Jim’s bedroom dressed in a pressed suit and tie for the meet-the-family dinner at Spock’s and Jim looks down at his own jeans and slightly wrinkled dress shirt, Jim has the feeling that whatever Sarek actually is, he is completely unprepared to deal with him.

Bones takes pity on his roommate and shows Jim how to iron his clothes into a state of modest respectability. Jim is more confident thereafter, mainly because Bones eyes him in such a way that says Jim looks good.

“Jitters are perfectly normal,” Leonard states matter-of-factly, heading into the living room. “And don’t worry either—Sarek doesn’t bite.”

Yeah, Jim wonders, but can Sarek have Jim disposed of by an assassin on a dark night and have his body hidden in a grave no one will find and then erase James T. Kirk's entire existence?

Bones would laugh if he said that, so he doesn't.

At a quarter until seven, Jim’s mother knocks on his apartment door, and Jim tucks his worries into the back of his mind. Winona smiles at McCoy, wipes a smudge from her son's cheek (Jim doesn’t really think he has a smudge but he is long since used to keeping his protests to himself), and announces brightly, “We’ll have a wonderful time, Jimmy!”

God, he hopes so.

They pile into her truck. On the ride to Spock’s house, Leonard’s hand finds Jim’s in the darkened exterior of the cab and squeezes Jim’s fingers gently. Jim squeezes back, forgetting everything except how glad he is to have Bones next to him. Of course, seeing Spock framed in the doorway of the house as they pull into the driveway reminds Jim that if McCoy is his rock, Spock is McCoy’s—and might be very close to becoming Jim’s too.

~~~

Winona Kirk and Amanda Grayson eye each other, smiling pleasantly. Jim stands beside his mother and Spock next to his.

"Spock tells me how extraordinary your son is, Ms. Kirk, and Spock is not easy to impress." Amanda is disarmingly charming.

Winona demurs, "I would never deny that my son is more than ordinary, of course." She turns to touch Jim's cheek with affection. "He has grown into a good man—like his father."

Amanda's eyes pin Jim down. He valiantly attempts to stop fidgeting while under the inspection. "I see," says Amanda Grayson. "Jim—oh, I hope the informality won't discomfort you."

He shakes his head. "I prefer it, if you don't mind, ma'am."

A quick glance to the side confirms that Leonard is keeping Sarek busy. Jim's ears catch the words "clinic" and "population" and "decent people."

Amanda asks, "Jim, do you enjoy the kind of work you do?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers as guilelessly as possible. He looks at Spock and smiles at the man's poorly concealed curiosity. "I enjoy it in the same way Spock appreciates his kind of work. I like working with engines, and I guess I'm good at what I do. The best part, though, is that my skill provides a service people need. And lucky for our customers, my boss is an honest guy to do business with. We stay occupied most days."

Why is Spock's mother looking at him like that?

"Is your son always so humble?" Spock's mother asks Jim's mother.

Winona grins. " _Most days_ ," she echoes. Jim stares at his shoes, knowing his face is turning red.

Amanda laughs, delighted. "I think he could grow on me," she proclaims, possibly loud enough for her husband to hear.

"That's good," Winona replies, "because I already like your son."

If Jim was more astute, he would have realized then that these two particular women in charity with one another is a dangerous, _dangerous_ combination. The mothers hook arms like old friends and head towards the kitchen, chatting.

Leonard appears at Jim's elbow. "So, did you survive the inquisition?"

Jim frowns. "What?"

Spock tells McCoy, "Mother has not yet commenced a full interrogation of Jim. She will do so after dessert."

Jim whimpers because that sounds anything but fun. "Can I go home now?" he half-whines.

Sarek sails past. "That would inconvenience my wife, Mr. Kirk. I suggest you stay for the duration of the evening."

Leonard snickers at Jim. Jim threatens to spill wine on him. Spock deftly removes the wine glass from Jim's hand and retreats to the dining room.

Dinner is excellent, actually, and once Kirk discovers that Amanda taught Spock how to cook, he has so much fun wheedling tales of Spock's childhood. Leonard almost chokes on his drink when Amanda mentions that a very young Spock could climb trees like a monkey and once almost unwittingly brained his father with a coconut when Sarek demanded that the boy come down from his perch in a coconut tree.

Jim sees the teasing remarks piling up behind Leonard's twinkling eyes. Amanda smiles and sips at her red wine.

The meal lasts over an hour, and Jim enjoys himself, though he might possibly be clenching his napkin once Amanda rises from the table to bring in dessert.

The telephone rings in another room. No one takes much notice of the occurrence until Spock returns from answering it and interrupts the conversation with a solemn "Leonard."

McCoy stops gesturing with his fork. "Spock?"

"Dr. Piper has rung for you."

McCoy mumbles something about never telling Christine of his whereabouts again. But he still shoves his chair back from the table and strides from the room, not quite hurrying but not unconcerned either.

Winona exchanges a glance with Jim. He doesn't know why, but his stomach is no longer solely heavy with food.

Sarek politely draws Winona's attention, leaving Jim to stare at the archway McCoy had disappeared through. Amanda returns with dessert, carefully placing the souffle in the middle of the table. She asks after Leonard.

Jim says, almost surprised to hear himself say the words, "Something's happened. Mark—the doctor in charge of the medical clinic in town—called Bones."

"Jimmy, you don't know that," his mother argues.

But it makes sense. He turns to her. "This is Mark we talking about, Mom. He hates calling people—not to mention that he ought to be eating with his family instead of calling Bones."

She bites at her lip. In the next moment, Leonard appears in the archway. "Winona," he asks in a grave voice, "can you get me to the hospital in Derby? Mayor Wesley's had a heart attack."

Winona gasps and immediately pales. Jim grabs her wine glass before it tips over onto the table. She stands up to search for her purse, and when Jim sees how badly her hands are shaking he pulls the truck keys away from her.

"I'll take him, Mom."

"Oh God, Jim, no! Bob is—I have to—take Leonard to the hospital!"

He pulls her into a tight hug. "Let me take Bones. It's dark and—let me take him, okay?" She's upset, despite the resolute set of her shoulders, and they both know it.

Winona nods reluctantly. Jim turns to Spock to ask if he will look after Winona but Amanda is already saying, "We'll take of care of her, Jim."

He hesitates before nodding and running after Bones who has grabbed his jacket from the front hall closet and waits by the door, face composed and grim. Jim nods to McCoy, and the doctor takes his nod as a signal to head out to the truck. Jim almost follows him, except that Spock halts him with a light hold on his arm.

"You will drive carefully," says Spock, concerned. It is not a question.

This time Jim doesn't hesitate. He gives Spock a soft, reassuring kiss. "I promise, Spock, we'll be careful."

Only when Spock steps back does Jim notice Sarek silohuetted at the back of the hallway, watching them, but Jim simply does not have time to care.


	22. Part Twenty-Two

“I told him! I told that ornery bastard to get checked out by a cardiologist! _Jesus..._ " McCoy’s voice dies out painfully, and Jim’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

“Bones.”

“What?” is McCoy’s harsh snap.

But Jim knows why McCoy is so angry—and it isn’t at Bob. “Don’t do this, Bones.”

For a moment, there is silence. Leonard turns and studies him from across the cab of the truck. He says at last, “Prevention is my job, Jim. You can’t understand.”

“Try me,” bites out Kirk before reeling in his own temper. “I am _not_ going to listen to you beat yourself up over the next twenty miles. Robert is a grown man, and he has the right to ignore the advice of his doctors if he wants to, even if he’s p-paying for it.” Jim almost falters. The words linger like ash in his mouth.

Leonard’s voice is oddly gentle. “I know the mayor means something to your family, Jim. It’ll be okay. He is at the hospital by now, and they’re staffed to handle his kind of emergency.”

Jim says, without thinking, “That’s not all of it, Bones. I mean, yeah, Bob is like family but… that’s not all of it,” he finishes lamely.

He is asked quietly, “Do you want me to tell the other reason?”

Jim wishes he had never opened his mouth. He swallows hard and attempts to sound causal, rational. “Think about what this means for Riverside, Bones. If Bob has to—pull out of the race, who is going to stop the other guy from becoming mayor?”

He doesn’t have to look at McCoy to hear the frown. “You mean, er, crap, what’s his name? Trane?”

Jim allows himself a quick chuckle. “Trelane.”

“Well, maybe Trelane isn’t so bad.”

“Oh believe me, Bones, he is the _worst_.”

“Funny,” says McCoy, “you don’t seem that involved in politics.”

“Which doesn’t mean I don’t care that someone wants to ruin my hometown!” Jim snaps back.

“Whoa, okay! I didn’t mean it like that. You really don’t like the idea of Trelane replacing Wesley, do you?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I think he’s a crooked SOB.”

Leonard sounds thoughtful. “Then I would hate for you to be right. He was on the evening news last night, looking chummy with Sheriff what’s-his-face.”

“Komack,” supplies Kirk. “Don’t you know anybody’s name?”

“My memory’s terrible. I’m old.”

Jim smiles in the dark. “So you are admitting you ought to be living in a nursing home instead of my apartment.”

“Say that again, kid, and you’d better sleep with one eye open and a shotgun by your hip.”

Jim sighs but feels immeasurably better since learning of Bob’s heart attack. “Thanks,” he says, not expecting Leonard to understand why he says it.

Surprisingly, however, McCoy replies, “Don’t mention it. We’re both a little high strung right now.”

Jim doesn’t need to say a word. He turns on the radio, finding a channel he thinks they both can stand, and lets music carry them the rest of the way to the Derby Hospital.

~~~

Jim hates hospitals. He hates the way they smell (oddly enough Jim doesn’t mind that antiseptic smell on Bones), the way they are always freezing, and the way people walk by and stare with morbid curiosity, wondering _who’s dying in this kid’s family?_

Granted, he has almost always been the 'dying one' in past experiences but, well, he just hates hospitals!

Worst yet, Bones has left Jim alone in the waiting room, listening to people sniffle into their family’s shoulders or the television drone on about mass murder halfway across the world or someone’s earth-rattling snores. Jim sits for a while, head bowed, and then he gets up and paces. Back and forth, back and forth, sometimes craning his neck around the nurses’ desk to look down a long, white hallway in hopes of spotting McCoy.

When the first reporter shows up, Jim snarls to himself and retreats to a corner.

Wesley has no family to worry for him, but he has the press to drool over possible headlines for tomorrow’s paper. Will it be Mayor Decommissioned By Heart Attack? Or Saddest Day in Riverside: Mayor Dies?

Somewhere in the middle of the front page would be a picture of Trelane hugging a random citizen, with the caption “Trelane proposes a day of mourning for his belated opponent. He accepts offer to become next Mayor of Riverside.”

Dr. Piper and Dr. McCoy come down the hallway, side by side. Jim sticks close to the wall as the reporters begin shouting questions in the middle of the waiting room. Piper’s tired voice tells them all to go home, and no, Robert isn’t dead and it’s too early to make a public statement. Leonard manages to slip away to the side and catch Jim’s arm.

“How bad?” asks Jim, heart in his throat.

“Coulda been worse, Jim,” answers McCoy, "a lot worse. He didn’t go into arrest, but I’m afraid he might need surgery soon enough. I can't tell you more. I'm sorry.”

Jim drops his head to Leonard’s shoulder. Bones strokes the back of Jim’s neck.

“I want to stay for a while longer. Think you can grab us a hotel room nearby?”

“Yeah,” Jim agrees, pulling away. “I’ll call you and tell you where.”

“Okay.”

Jim already knows the answer but he can’t help asking. “Can I see him?”

“Not tonight, Jim,” McCoy tells him. “Tomorrow I’ll see what I can do but it might not happen, kid.”

“I know. I’m not family.”

Leonard’s eyes hold his. “You are in every way that counts. Now go on, get some sleep.”

Jim sighs. “I’ll try. See you?”

“Yeah,” says the doctor. “And, Jim… call Spock. Tell him I said he’d better sleep too.”

“I will,” promises Kirk. Jim watches McCoy pull Piper away from the frenzy, and then he slips quietly past the crowd and into the elevator, his thoughts already focused on the people he cares about waiting for news back in Riverside.

~~~

Jim is too wound up to catch more than a few hours of sleep. By late morning of the next day, the hospital has turned into a media circus, and Riverside townspeople are coming in by the van loads to add their well-wishing and prayers for Mayor Wesley’s recovery. The Derby police don’t appear to be having fun with the crowd control.

Winona comes close to getting herself arrested when she is told that the waiting room is for family and colleagues only and makes a scene, which rather frightens her son. Jim intervenes, explains charmingly (for the police officer is a young woman and Jim is praying to God she is not immune to his blue eyes) that Winona has been employed by Mr. Wesley for several decades and she is as close to a _family member_ as the man gets. The plea gets them into the cordoned-off waiting room (one would think Wesley was a movie star and not a politician) but sadly no further.

That is, until Wesley threatens to throw a fit (and his bed pan), heart attack or not, if the nurses don’t let the Kirks in to see him once Bob finds out Winona is waiting. Bones looks slightly too smug as he escorts Jim and Winona down the hallway toward the Intensive Care Unit.

McCoy and Kirk let Winona go in first, alone, and Jim takes the opportunity to tell Leonard how awful he looks.

“You didn’t come to the hotel last night,” accuses Kirk.

Leonard shrugs. “I’m fine. Wesley came to and sent Piper home to his family. Apparently I drew the short straw and had to stay,” he says dryly. “Not even having a heart trying to implode makes that man less stubborn.”

“That’s why he is a good mayor.”

McCoy snorts.

Winona calls, “Jimmy?”

Jim brushes a hand over Bones’ shoulder. He offers him the hotel key card. “Room 113. I already pulled back the covers for you.”

Leonard takes the card without an argument.

~~~

Bones tells Jim that night, as they share Chinese takeout in the hotel room, that he plans to stay in Derby for the next few days. Jim simply kisses him and when Leonard looks surprised, Jim says, “I owed you that.”

They discover Winona cheerfully force-feeding Bob green jello while the nurses snicker to themselves from behind their station. The patient groans in distress (not the medical kind, which prompts people to laugh at him) and says in a pitiful voice, “ _Please, I'm trapped!_ ” to Jim and Leonard.

Jim grins, glad to find Bob in infinitely better spirits than he had that morning. Wesley had never looked frailer then, and it had scared Jim to his core, seeing the generally robust man ghostly white and hidden beneath an oxygen mask and wires.

Jim stays until visiting hours are up. Then Bob lifts a hand, momentarily struggling against the IV in his arm, and presses the back of his fingers to Winona’s cheek. He asks her to let him rest, to go home, subtly implying that he wants her to rest, too. When Jim’s mother turns away from the bed to hide her tears, Wesley tugs on Jim’s hand and whispers to him, “I know you’ll take care of her, son. I wouldn’t trust my Winny with anyone but you.”

Jim nods, squeezes Bob’s hand, and coaxes his mother out of the hospital.

~~~

Jim is utterly exhausted by the time he drops his mother off at the farm, helps her to bed, and then returns to his apartment. It’s almost midnight.

His emotional quota for the day has been surpassed. All he wants is his bed and ten hours of sleep. Spock’s mother has already made a lunch appointment with him tomorrow, saying he needs a good meal and a quiet place to de-stress. (Spock was useless in aiding Jim’s protest of the lunch date.)

Jim reaches out to insert his key into the deadbolt lock and pauses. Taped to his apartment door is a white envelope. Bemused, he plucks it off the door and turns it over in his hands, finding no name or address.

Opening the envelope proves a little more than disconcerting; it sinks his stomach straight to the floor. Realizing that he is still standing outside, Jim hastily enters his apartment and bolts the door. Then Jim, shedding his jacket and keys, delicately extricates the sheets of paper from the envelope and absentmindedly perches on the armrest of his couch.

There are two newspaper articles glued to a piece of white copier paper. One has a picture of a mangled vehicle and an overturned truck on opposite sides of the road and a headline that must read something like _Fatal Car Meets Big Wheeler Accident_ , except the entire article is in Russian and Jim can’t read Russian. The shorter article pasted below it is all bold-faced words and so Jim turns to the other folded piece of paper for insight.

It is a typed English translation of both articles. Jim stills the sudden tremor in his hands, and reads.

_… tragedy on a snowy night when the driver of a Ramstore trailer lost control of his vehicle and swerved into oncoming traffic. The driver, surviving, denies that he was inebriated at the time of the accident, despite the details of the medical report later released from the hospital. A couple returning from a musical event outside of Moscow, now identified as Mr. and Mrs. Andrei Chekov, were unable to avoid the collision…_

Jim drops the translation, and it is some minutes before he can pick it up again. The second article is an obituary.

_…died in a fatal car crash on Monday evening…survived by their children, son Pavel Chekov, 17, and daughter Sasha Chekov, 6, and Andrei Chekov’s brother and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Ivan Chekov. The memorial service will be held at…_

Jim sets the papers aside and almost gets up to grab a beer from his refrigerator to take the edge off his shocked senses but recalls that Pavel and Sasha’s parents were killed by a drunk driver and finds himself splashing cold water on his face in his bathroom instead. Finally convinced that he isn’t going to be sick, Jim climbs into his bed and buries his face in his pillow.

He can’t think straight.

He can’t think of anything except that it is unlikely Pavel dropped this information by his apartment, not when he doesn’t want anyone to know why he and Sasha are in Riverside.

So who would want Kirk to know?

Jim goes cold.

Wrong question. Who would want Jim to know that _he knows_ about Pavel and Sasha?

The answer is quite simple: Trelane would.

A gift but also a warning. And Jim is receiving it late because he has been in Derby for a day and a half.

Jim knows then that he won’t be able to sleep so Jim bounds out of bed, tugs on his jacket and grabs the keys that he had tossed onto the coffee table. His instinct is pushing him to _do something_ and at the moment that means checking up on Pavel and Sasha. He drives faster than he should.

The sign of the Star Motel flashes like a beacon in the night sky. The office is lit but the blinds are drawn. Jim hurries inside and is disappointed to find an older woman reading a book behind the counter.

“We have vacancies,” she says without looking up. Then, equally uncaring, “If you’re here to rob me, there’s a gun in my lap.”

Jim slowly approaches the counter and, indeed, there is a Smith & Wesson handgun across her knee. “No, ma’am,” he says quickly. “I’m looking for Pavel Chekov. Can you tell me which room he’s in?”

She looks up from her paperback novel and eyes him speculatively. “Whatcha want with that boy?”

“I’m Jim Kirk—we’re friends.”

Her face clears. “Oh! You’re the fella who got Pavel extra work at the mayor's diner down the street. Sad thing, about the mayor.”

“Yeah,” he agrees but not wanting to gossip. “Do you think Pavel’s here?”

“Naw, I quit giving him the late shift on account of his little sister not liking to sleep alone. ‘N he normally don’t work past ten as a kitchen boy.”

Jim tries to rein in his patience. “I know. I need to see him, though. It’s important.”

She pats her gun like it’s a pet. “You have an honest face, Jim Kirk, but if I catch you messing with him or the girl, I won’t think twice about giving you a third eye, you understand me?”

It would be best if Jim doesn’t crack a joke at this point. He doubts she has the same sense of humor. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Room 10, back-side of the motel.”

“Thank you!” Jim calls over his shoulder.

Room 10 is still, no lights or noise. Kirk hesitates but decides that he can make it up later to Pavel and Sasha if he wakes them. Yet his knocking is not overly loud.

He waits then knocks again. “Pavel? It’s Jim.” The bad feeling skittering up his spine increases in intensity. “Pavel! C’mon, let me in!”

No one moves the curtains, not like Bones had that first time Jim bombarded him with food in his motel room. In fact, after several minutes, Jim is certain that no one is inside. Sasha, at the very least, would have recognized his voice.

He turns, eyes searching the parking lot. If someone else is watching, all they will see is a frustrated James Kirk kick at rocks on the way back to his pickup.

At the diner, Sulu is sadly of little help.

“I let him go earlier than usual,” says the chef, currently wiping down his stove with a rag.

“He’s not home,” Jim explains.

The Japanese man stills. “Nyota gave them a ride to the motel.”

“And they aren’t there!” Jim reiterates with agitation.

Hikaru Sulu turns. His intense look instantly quiets Jim.

“I’m sorry, Sulu. I—shit.” Kirk rakes a hand through his hair. “I wanted to make sure they were okay.”

“At one in the morning?” asks the other man too softly.

“Yes. I was worried.”

“And now you have reason to be,” concludes Sulu. “Nyota’s already gone for the night. Give me a minute to close down the back. Then we’ll go.”

“I can—"

“ _We_ will look for them together, or we’ll take the concern to the police together.” Sulu’s tone brooks no argument.

Jim shuts his mouth, knowing that Pavel would hate them for going to the police. Besides, Jim isn’t certain he could explain why he was looking for Pavel and Sasha in the middle of the night without being forced to talk about the “gift”—and that leads to Trelane.

If the sheriff Komack is as deep in Trelane’s pocket as Rand, Jim is going to end up dead, and his friends along with him.

It takes Sulu less than five minutes to pack up the rest of the supplies, switch off the lights, and lock the doors. Jim follows Sulu to a small car and slides into the passenger’s seat.

“Where to?” asks the driver.

Jim rests his fists on his knees. “Assuming that no one took them—" Hikaru looks up sharply at that. “—where would Pavel go?”

“The better question is _why_ would he take Sasha out of the motel this late.”

They share a long look. Jim says, at last, “It’s easier to runaway in the dark and not attract attention.”

“The Greyhound station then,” Hikaru guesses and pulls the car onto the main road.

Jim tucks his hands under his armpits. “Is it even open this time of night?”

“It would have closed down at midnight.”

“Fuck. They could be gone!”

Hikaru’s expression tightens. “We’ll look anyway.” Sulu adds ominously, “Whether we find them or not, you’ll tell me why Pavel would run.”

“I don’t know the whole story,” admits Kirk.

“Then you will tell me what you know.”

And Jim would be a fool to argue otherwise because, observing Sulu’s grim profile, Jim begins to understand that Pavel and Sasha mean a great deal to The Diner's usually stoic chef.

And Jim isn’t certain if that makes things better or worse.

~~~

By sheer dumb luck, Jim catches a glimpse of Pavel. He grabs Sulu’s arm and orders, “Turn around!”

Sulu swerves off the road with a curse. “What?”

“I just saw Pavel!”

Sulu is already turning left back onto the road. “Where?” he demands.

“The 7-Eleven—there! No, shit, not in the front! Pavel knows your car.”

Sulu hesitates and then parks in the lot of the business next door. They get out and head for the gas station.

Hope thrums through Jim. “I saw him go around that corner.”

Sulu lengthens his stride. The gas station is also a common truck stop along the highway. At the back is wide parking lot for trucks. There are currently two semi-trucks unattended; at least Jim initially thinks so until he hears a familiar accent.

“I have money.”

“Look, kid, I travel alone—"

Jim is already running. He rounds the side of the truck with the name “Pavel!” flying out of his mouth.

Pavel jerks his head to the side, sees Jim, and—rather than bolting—his face hardens. For a brief second, Pavel Chekov almost looks like a stranger.

Jim jogs up to the pair, ignoring the startled truck driver, and begins, “Pavel, I was—"

Pavel doesn’t give him time to finish, spits something in Russian, and throws himself at Jim in real anger. A fist cracks into Kirk's jaw, and Jim goes down with Pavel on top of him, still swinging.

“You—I trusted you!— _Я вырву твое сердце!_ *”

“Whoa, I don’t want no trouble!” shouts a male voice. There is the sound of a door slamming and the engine of the truck roars to life.

Jim opts for protecting his face rather than defending himself. He tries to tell Pavel to stop but Pavel is too enraged to listen. Finally Sulu manages to pull a struggling Pavel off of him.

A dazed Kirk remains sprawled on the ground.

Sulu leans over him. “Jim?”

“I’m fine,” he says then sits up, gingerly touching his jaw. Thank God it's still attached.

Pavel is panting like a wild animal, his anger still clearly riding him hard but makes no attempt to push past Sulu to Jim. “You are a liar and a bastard!”

Sulu looks from Pavel to Jim, before asking in a deadly voice, “What’s he talking about, Jim?”

Kirk stands up, hands out, suddenly aware that Sulu might be a wild card. “I have no idea, I swear. Pavel,” he asks the young man earnestly, “what’s going on?”

“You told!” Chekov accuses Kirk.

“Told?” Jim asks sharply. “If you mean about you and your sister—I haven’t told anyone. _I wouldn't._ ”

Pavel stares at Jim for too long. “You said we were safe. You said this—and then we are not safe! They will come to take Sasha!”

“Pavel, I’m not following you. You have to start at the beginning. Who is going to take Sasha?”

Instead, Pavel snaps his mouth shut, takes a step back, preparing to run. Only Hikaru’s “Pavel!” (not Jim’s) causes the man to pause. “You are a friend, Hikaru,” Chekov says, “but I am going. Sasha is first. Always.”

Sulu shakes his head. “No, you can both come home with me.” At the fleeting indecision in Pavel’s eyes, Sulu presses on. “Don’t be stupid, Pavel. You can’t hitchhike with a little girl. Stay with me tonight, and tomorrow—if you want to leave, I will buy you bus tickets anywhere you want to go.”

Jim wisely keeps his mouth shut. Sulu isn’t a man of many words so when he speaks, people listen. Jim prays that Pavel is listening.

Chekov looks past Sulu to Kirk. “Did you send the man?” he asks.

Jim shakes his head. “I didn’t—I don’t even know what you are talking about, Pavel. Please believe me. You know I wouldn’t want anything to happen to Sasha.”

Pavel’s fists loosen. “He came into the diner, like when he visits Ms. Marlena, and he—when his little phone made a noise, he asked me to answer it.” Pavel’s face gradually loses color.

Sulu approaches Chekov and puts his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Is that why you were upset and wanted to leave early?”

Pavel closes his eyes briefly, looking wan in the lamplight of the parking lot. “Because of the person on the little phone, yes.” His eyes are no longer fierce, just scared. “They will come here and take my sister,” he pleads. “They are not good people! Please do not ask us to stay!”

Jim says softly, “No one’s coming tonight, Pavel. Let’s go to Sulu’s house, okay?”

Pavel makes a choked noise but nods.

“Where’s Sasha?” Jim asks as Sulu puts his arm around Chekov.

“In the bathroom. She hides while I look for transport.”

Jim grimaces. If they hadn’t caught Pavel in time, he and the little girl would be at the mercy of some stranger, traveling in the dark. What was it that Bones said about being religious on some days? Today, Jim is feeling religious.

Sasha is not in the women’s bathroom where Pavel left her. She isn’t in the men’s bathroom, either. Pavel goes from scared to panicked in a heartbeat. Jim isn’t doing so well himself. He shakes the gas station attendant like a madman while Chekov darts in and out of every corner looking for his sister until it is clear she isn’t inside the building and he sprints outside again, desperate.

Close to Jim, a pale Sulu looks a hair’s breadth away from calling the police. Jim can almost taste the intent in the air.

The attendant works an arm free and shoves at Kirk. “Get off me, man! How do I know where the sister went?”

Jim lets him go, gives him a moment to breathe, and then slams his fist into the guy’s nose. As the fool is yelling in pain, Jim pins the man’s upper torso to the glass counter. “Who—“ he remarks, “—said anything about the girl being a sister?”

The attendant curses. “Fuck, get off! I don’t know nothing!”

Jim takes a bit of pleasure in grinding the man’s bleeding nose against the glass.

His captive screams, “Okay, okay, okay! A guy came in!”

Jim releases the man. “What guy?”

“I don’t know—hey, okay, don’t hit me again!—just a guy, all right, and he had the little girl by the arm and she was crying and he offered to buy her an ice cream cone and she kicked him! I was gonna call the cops, you know, but he… offered me a lot of money…” Here the man trails off.

“A little girl gets kidnapped and you take a bribe to look the other way? How do you live with yourself!”

“Should I break his arm?” Sulu asks, approaching the counter with narrowed eyes.

“Maybe later,” Jim says offhandedly. “After he tells us everything he knows.”

“Hey!” protests the attendant. “It’s not like he made off with her!” The guy points his arm in the direction of the parking lot. “The guy said he was waiting for some dude named James Kirk and—"

Jim is already out the door. He looks around, suddenly having trouble breathing, and Sulu is at his elbow, crying out, “There!”

In the distance a black car idles, headlights on, perpendicular to Sulu’s car. Jim spots Pavel—and Sasha, who is cradled in his arms. Pavel looks up at their hasty approach, eyes wide. Sasha is sobbing into her brother’s shirt.

Jim gives all his attention to the man standing by the car. “Who are you?”

“James Kirk?”

Sulu freezes midway between Kirk and Chekov.

“That’s me,” Jim says.

The unfamiliar man opens the car door. “Get in, Mr. Kirk.”

This is déjà-vu, it has to be, because the last time Kirk gave into that demand he ended up in a bad, bad situation. Perhaps the man anticipates his answer because he pulls back the flap of his jacket to flash the gun tucked into the front of his belt. “Get in" is repeated.

Sulu looks hard at Jim. “Don’t do it.”

Jim ignores his friend and asks, “Will you let them go?”

“My orders are to retrieve you. The others are free to leave—unless you resist.”

“Sulu,” he says on a whim, “tell Bones I’m sorry I never fully explained just how crooked an SOB can be.”

“Jim!”

Jim gets in the car.

To his surprise, there is no one in the backseat. As the car drives away, Sulu and Pavel and Sasha fading into the distance, Jim thinks he might be very wrong.

He asks the man driving the car, “Where’s your boss?”

“She awaits your arrival.”

Jim does a mental somersault. “ _She?_ ”

The man continues to stare ahead. “Yes. The Lady Q.”

Jim is certain his mouth is hanging open. “The Q work for Trelane?”

Finally, the man looks in the rearview mirror. His expression reads _you are an idiot_. “The Q work for no one, Mr. Kirk. The politician Trelane is distant kin to her Ladyship’s family. He is… no longer acknowledged among the Q.”

And that is when Jim Kirk realizes he is a mere puppet in a game more intricate than he could have possibly imagined. How did his life get so complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - _Я вырву твое сердце!_ \- I will cut your heart out! (Excuse my ignorant Russian.)


	23. Part Twenty-Three

Jim expects to be blindfolded; after all, he doubts many people see the inside of the Q compound and live to tell about it. Yet, the driver parks the car (Jim eyes the blank-faced men guarding the tall double gates) and escorts Jim through the front door, pausing only to bow to a butler twice Jim’s size. Jim is then left standing in a seemingly endless hallway.

Jim calls to the man’s retreating back, “Where am I supposed to go?”

The driver stops, turning. “Lady Q is not stringent concerning the freedom of her guests, Mr. Kirk. You may go anywhere you wish within these walls, but do not leave the campus until her Ladyship dismisses you.”

Campus? Exactly how big is this place?

Jim starts walking—wandering, really. The people, all in matching dark uniforms, he passes do not spare him a glance, not even when he tries a cautious _hello_. He could be a ghost.

There is an art gallery through one door and a ballroom behind another; he finds a courtyard with trees whose branches are reaching for the stars. Jim briefly considers climbing one of the trees, nighttime or not, and onto the roof. Except then he’d have to find his way down the other side.

He doubts her Ladyship would be amused if her guest broke his leg and spoiled her evil plans.

Kirk retreats back into a hallway sporting tasteful sculptures and Chinese vases and the occasional full-length mirror. Funny, if he were in a gothic novel (not that Jim has ever read one, especially not the kind with terrified governesses and emotionally repressed lords and dark family secrets; they’re his mother’s paperbacks, not his), this would be a castle with scary shadows and ominous sounds. Yet the feeling Jim has is quite the opposite: there is a strange, stern but somewhat peaceful atmosphere, as though chaos is frowned upon and sent to a timeout like a naughty child.

He has a more pressing issue, however. Jim grimaces and silently berates his bladder for choosing now of all times to protest its full capacity. Turning in a circle, Jim tries to remember which way he had come. Maybe he can beg the butler for the nearest restroom; or at worst, piss on the man’s foot and bolt down the driveway.

He resolutely picks a direction and hurries along. A woman forms out of a shadow as he turns a corner and scares him silly.

“Mr. Kirk,” she intones.

He has to take a moment to make sure that he didn’t lose control of himself. “Yep. Er, let me interrupt. I need a bathroom—rather sooner than later.”

She turns on her heel, walks to a closed door, and waits beside it. Jim is beyond the point of caring if she listens to him pee or not and scurries inside. Within a few short minutes, he bounds out of the bathroom again, restored to the best of his ability (he even managed to wipe the dirt streak off his cheek that no one had mentioned).

Jim eyes the woman, who returns his look without changing expression (or perhaps, gaining one). “I assume you have no further need of the men’s facilities,” she states, looking pointedly at his hands as though he’d forgotten to wash them or something.

“So,” Jim says, ignoring her comment and stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. He had forgotten to wash them. “Am I going to see the Queen now?”

“Her Ladyship sympathizes with your long and weary day. She offers her hospitality. I will take you to a room to rest.”

Jim sputters. “A-Are you people serious?! I’m here against my will, and you’re pretending I’m an honored guest at a hotel!” He spins around and marches away, furious. After a few sharp turns and despite increasing his pace, he has to halt to stare down the woman silently trailing after him. “How do I get out of here?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible at this time, Mr. Kirk.”

“You will let me go.”

“You are not in danger among the Q.”

“Are you _deaf?_ ”

She blinks at him. “Are outsiders always this rude?”

That gives him pause. “Wait—what?” He frowns. “Is that what I am—an outsider?”

Her eyes peruse him from head to toe. “You are young,” she says, and that by no means answers his question. “I heard it said—that you are brash and reckless and a—” The woman quickly closes her mouth, frowning against whatever she had been about to say.

Jim puts on his charmer’s smirk and swaggers, closing the distance between them by a few feet. “I’m a what?” he asks intently.

Her frown deepens but her shoulders pull back. “It is said, Mr. Kirk, that you are a rakish man.”

He stares at her for a split second, forgetting where is he, and laughs. “I-I’m a rake? _A rake?_ ”

“My words are not meant to humor you,” she doesn’t quite snap as he doubles over, chuckling.

“They so are,” he retorts and sucks in a breath. “I thought rakes were scandalous Dukes with too much money and not enough morals. Oh Jesus, that’s good. Wait ‘til I tell Bones!” He straightens, grinning, and tips an imaginary hat. “If I were a true rake, ma’am, I’d have charmed off your pantaloons by now, as well as the key to the front door.”

The woman’s mouth pinches. “You are overly foolish, Mr. Kirk. I do not find you amusing.” She turns on her heel and stalks toward another hallway. “Her Ladyship considers you worthy of the trust of the Q, but you are not!”

“Hey!” he calls and jogs to catch up. When Jim reaches for her arm, she gasps and skitters away from him.

“Do not touch me!” she shrills, shocked.

Okay, this woman is a little nutty, and definitely more than a drone, as she had been play-acting earlier. He raises his hands, palms out, and soothes, “I won’t put a hand on you again, honest. Think for a minute, though. I’m minding my own business—outside—and suddenly I’m here, whether I want to be or not. Then you tell me I can’t go home.” He wills her to understand. “I’ve had an experience like this before, and it didn’t end well for me.”

She sniffs, though her eyes aren’t as cold as before, and regains her calm. “We are the Q, Mr. Kirk. We are civilized. I do not lie when I say that you shall come to no harm.”

“My point is,” he says, unrelenting, “you do not have a right to keep me here.”

Hesitancy flickers across her face before she relaxes and straightens to her full height (which is considerably shorter than Kirk’s). “I cannot discuss this subject with you. It is beyond my authority.”

“Then I’ll see the Lady Q now.”

“You cannot—" Again, the hesitation. “—until tomorrow.” Her voice lowers a little, with just a hint of something other than an order. “Stay and sleep. You look—tired.”

He looks awful; dirty clothes from wallowing on the ground while Pavel beat on him, bags under his eyes from little sleep and too much worrying, and Jim is certain he hasn’t brushed his hair in two days. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

“No.”

“Fine, but I want a big fluffy bed, my own bathroom, and a serious breakfast when I wake up. No fruit. Bacon and pancakes and—"

“You may desist now, Mr. Kirk. All provided shall suffice.”

She isn’t lying. He follows her up a long flight of stairs that makes his calves hurt and to a bedroom that makes him wonder if he isn’t in the Buckingham Palace by mistake. His bed has a canopy—a white canopy and silk sheets. He could swim in the bathtub in the adjacent bathroom.

The woman retreats. “I hope you will be comfortable. Goodnight, Mr. Kirk.”

He turns around quickly. “You didn’t tell me your name,” and God if that doesn’t sound cliché. Maybe this is a paperback romance after all. Jim wills himself not to blush. “Your name,” he repeats.

“I am Q. What need have I of any other name?” She closes the door on her way out.

He waits a few minutes, listening to the echo of her footsteps die away, before testing the door. It isn’t locked. Staring between the door and the big bed, Jim sighs with finality. He really is tired, truly, and he doubts there are many hours left until Lady Q is up and about and demanding his presence for her amusement. Better to gather his strength now than end up discarded in a ditch half-dead because he stumbled over security during his escape. And crazy-eyed mastiffs. No doubt, this place has its share of guard dogs, too.

Jim’s brain is gloriously traitorous. It shuts off as soon as his head hits the pillow.

~~~

He dreams.

_Bones scoops up a handful of dirt and lets it sift through his fingers. “The damn fool!”_

_Spock is suddenly there. The lawyer cocks his head like he is listening to something no one else can hear. Then the man turns to Bones. “How shall we proceed?”_

_“With shovels, I reckon.”_

_Jim looks down at the oddly misty ground around his feet in confusion, and when he turns back, Bones and Spock are digging in the earth. Jim skirts around them, asking, “What’s down there?”_

_Bones halts his shoveling, wipes sweat from his brow, and turns to scowl at Jim. “You, idiot.”_

_Spock insists, “Leonard, we cannot delay.”_

_Bones says, “I’d never stop” and jabs his shovel into the mound of earth again._

_Jim tells them to quit digging (he's right here!) but they ignore him (can’t hear him?) and he begins to sink through the misty grass. Not good, not good, because Bones and Spock are digging for him and that means he’s down there, in the ground, so he has to _be_ in the ground in order for them to get him out…_

_Jim struggles to no avail (head almost underground), panics..._

And wakes up, tangled in bed sheets.

A man pauses in his dragging of a breakfast cart into Jim's room and says, "Good morning, Mr. Kirk. Her Ladyship will see you shortly. She hopes you like poached eggs."

~~~

Jim might have been afraid of Sarek and is only beginning to suspect that he should have been more afraid of Spock’s mother. But this… this woman makes him want to curl up in a ball under a table.

“You are fidgeting, young man.”

Jim grips the arms of his chair to keep absolutely still as sharp eyes (like a crow’s) dare him to a challenge. But Jim Kirk is not foolish enough to accept, and suffer the consequences of failure.

Was this how Han Solo felt, on the run from Jabba the Hutt? Not that Lady Q is a very large woman; on the contrary, she is quite tiny (because of her advanced age, maybe?), hidden in the folds of her voluminous dress.

Lady Q snaps her fan closed.

Jim jerks. “Yes, ma’am?” he inquires politely. Why does she need a fan? The room is air-conditioned to the point of freezing. There should be icicles on the stone window ledges.

“Your mind is wandering again, Mr. Kirk,” Lady Q says with a hint of annoyance.

“Nice fan?” Jim tries.

She points it at him. If it was a saber, it would be at his throat. “Do you jest with me?” demands the old woman.

“No, ma’am.”

That must be the right answer. “Well then, shall we continue with our chat?”

What else can there be to say? Jim has already explained his life story—during which she interrupted him several times to correct his mistakes:

_“No, Mr. Kirk, you were in university for thirteen days longer. Are you always this imprecise?”_  
“Do not slump, Mr. Kirk. Now, I seem to recall that your grandfather’s family on the paternal side originated from Ireland, not Scotland. How shameful for a man not to know his heritage!”  
“You may skip those details. The very thought of arrest offends my sensibilities. Also, I read the police officer’s report. You were most heinous, Mr. Kirk—an incorrigible upstart!” 

“Do we have to?” he asks plaintively and winces, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Rather than crying out “Off with his head!” and having Jim dragged out in chains like the miscreant she apparently thinks he is, Lady Q picks up her tea cup and saucer and says, mildly, “I shall call you James.”

He has never had an aunt; so he could never have had the kind of aunt people talk about hating to visit, the aunt who pinches her nephew’s cheek, smells like moth balls, and hands out one-dollar bills though she is absurdly rich.

Lady Q seems like that kind of aunt. Jim wisely keeps his mouth shut. He does nothing because she is running the show and they both know it.

Replacing her tea cup and saucer on a side table, Lady Q folds her hands in her lap and pins him with a stare. “You have proved accommodating, James, so I will grant you one minute in which to hear your plea of leniency.”

That does not sound good. Jim swallows twice, mouth dry, before speaking. “I was not aware that I had offended you—your Ladyship.”

Her voice goes cold. “Coyness does not suit you.”

He closes his eyes briefly, jaw ticking, then snaps, “Lady Q, look… I don’t know you. I don’t know _this_ place or why you think I need to be here,” and once his mouth starts, it doesn’t stop for anyone, especially not Jim. “My foot’s asleep because you won’t let me move it, I know my mother is probably frantic by now because I was _kidnapped off the street_ —"

Lady Q’s eyes are so narrow, she looks like she is squinting.

“—and now you accuse me of pissing you off! Well, I’m the one pissed off— _at you!_ ” Jim realizes belatedly that he clambered to his feet when he began yelling in frustration. He plops back into the cushy wingback chair and folds his arms.

Silence stretches between them for a full, heart-pounding minute.

Then Lady Q sighs. “I was not certain of your character. Trelane—" Here she grimaces. “—associates with men of particular… ill-repute. When I learned of his latest contact—of you, James Tiberius Kirk—I had you investigated. As you are aware, some of your past antics are dubious in nature and do not present you in the best light.”

“I was young and stupid,” Jim says.

“As every man and woman shall be on occasion. Forgive me my assumption, James. Although—" Lady Q adds a hint of whiplash to her voice. “—I do not care for your impertinence.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says, knowing a cue for contriteness when he hears one.

She rings a bell on the table then resumes her regal poise. “I see a glimpse of a gentleman in you. Sit up, child, and don’t waste it. That sulk is unbecoming.”

Kirk unfolds his arms and sits up. “Am I free to leave?”

“I would rather that you stayed for another day, James—it will aid our cause.”

“What cause is that?” he asks carefully, not appreciative of the use of _our_.

“Trelane is not Q,” she says. “He is spoilt, cruel, and utterly selfish. When he was a child—”

Jim starts, looking around curiously, like a miniature Trelane might appear and skip through the room, brandishing an umbrella.

“—he was a bully. I fear that temperament has not changed.”

 _Trelane is a sadistic bastard_ , Kirk doesn’t say. He thinks his face probably expresses the sentiment well enough. “He cracked my skull,” Kirk says flatly, “and threatened— _threatens_ —my family and friends.”

Lady Q’s lips thin in dismay. “That will not do,” she says. There is a knock on the closed door. She turns her head and calls, “Come.”

The woman from last night glides in; she does not look at Kirk, simply goes to Lady Q’s side and bows her head.

“What news, dearest?” asks the old woman.

“Her Ladyship will be pleased to learn that Mayor Wesley's chances of recovery continue to improve. The German cardiologist was well-received.”

Lady Q does look pleased. She smiles and asks Jim, “Does this news please you also?”

He closes his gaping mouth. “How could you—?”

With a flick of her wrist, Lady Q dismisses the other Q woman. She waits until the door is closed again to explain matters with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Really, James,” Jim is admonished. Lady Q’s eyes grow distant with memory as she talks. “Do you truly believe a young, whimsical Robert Wesley, hopelessly in love with a soldier’s widow, could garner favor in a politically conservative town such as Riverside? He was an upstart in his day, much like you. A bachelor with a decent head for business but no ambition; yet he had potential.”

Jim manages, “Are you saying you—put him in office and—and—” _Kept him there?_

She snaps her fan open and closed, like a warning. “The Q groomed him in the most benevolent of ways. Mr. Wesley did not receive any aid he did not approve of and I suspect you know the man’s propensity for dishonesty.”

“He’s a horrible liar.”

“Quite so. The Q gave a man an opportunity he might not have otherwise had. Robert has proved himself to be a fine politician, and it is to his own credit that Riverside is content to re-elect him each term.” Her eyes narrow. “This is where we come to our turmoil, James. I can send the highest-rated cardiologist in the world to care for Robert but I cannot remove Trelane from the electoral race.”

Jim’s heart skips a beat. “Neither can I.”

She fans herself. “You are a catalyst, James Kirk, one of Trelane’s own making. This is why you should consider visiting here for another day or so.”

“I don’t understand.” Why is he starting to sweat?

“You are well-loved—and I suspect you are very much missed at this moment.”

How can a person appear both righteous and gleeful? Lady Q’s expression frightens Jim. She continues to fan herself, lazily, and stares past him.

“Lady Q?” he says, his stomach dancing with inexplicable nerves, and rises from his seat.

“It won’t be necessary to get up, young man. I will call for our lunch. Do you like apricots?”

He takes a step forward. “What’s going on? I won’t let my family—" And that word includes Bones and Spock, he realizes, swallowing hard. “—be harmed.”

Her assessment of him is shrewd. “You worry for the wrong party. Trelane chose his newest toy with little care, and I assure you Trelane shall suffer for his poor choice. We must wait—it is only a matter of time now, dearest James, until he comes begging to this very door with a mob on his heels!”

Jim’s legs are weak. “A mob?”

Lady Q closes her fan and waves it around. Her dress flounces once, like she kicked her legs in excitement. “A mob, yes!” She settles again, smoothing out the wrinkles in her lap. “As I was saying, are you partial to apricots?”

He is a little dizzy, so he sits down. It must be the lack of food. Lunch isn’t a bad idea after all. “I’m allergic to apricots.”

“Oh, such a travesty. Prunes?”

“Them too.” Not really, but he hates prunes.

Lady Q tsks. Apparently she memorized his list of allergies along with his criminal record and his family tree.

Jim slumps forward and puts his head in his hands, listening to Lady Q’s little bell ring for service.


	24. Part Twenty-Four

The next morning, Jim is anxiously chewing on his bottom lip and peering through his third-story window when her Ladyship and a trail of attendants barge into his room unannounced. Jim turns—suddenly grateful that he showered and dressed earlier—to speak but Lady Q barks out orders in rapid succession—and none of them at Jim.

“Pull the table near the window and set the box—No, no! Not there! _By the window!_ ” She flaps one lacy-gloved hand in Jim’s general vicinity.

A man silently grabs Jim by the shoulders and almost lifts him out of the way as two more men carry in and carefully arrange a heavy, Chippendale desk in front of the window. The “box” is an old television with a broken antenna tipped with tin foil that might have cost ten dollars at a yard sale. It looks rather absurd (and sad) perched on the end of the recently polished mahogany desktop.

Lady Q squeezes between Jim and the desk for a better angle to inspect of her men’s handiwork and knocks Jim off-balance with her large, rigid hoop skirt. He lands with a plop across his bed.

She doesn’t take her eyes off the television (now being plugged into a wall socket) and waves her hand behind her, at Jim, quite impatiently. “Oh do not lounge about, dear! Come and see!”

Jim contemplates crawling under the bed. Someone grabs his shirt front and hauls him to his feet. Kirk sighs and gives the old woman’s dress a wide berth to stand opposite her.

The television crackles to life and fills with the white snow of static.

He blinks. “Um, what are we doing?” he wants to know.

Lady Q sits down on a chair which has miraculously appeared beneath her and daintily aligns the skirt of her dress (more like punching it down so that she can see over it). She says, indignant, “The Q are hardly neanderthals, James. This is a television. We will watch television. _You_ —" she snaps, addressing a young man with a nervous expression. “—where is the picture? Come now, we _must_ have a picture or this entire experience is wasteful!” Lady Q apparently abhors wastefulness.

“Yes, your Ladyship,” parrots the young man, as do the others around him. Adjusting the antennae doesn’t work. Nothing happens.

Lady Q brings out her fan.

Jim interrupts, taking pity on the male Q,“May I try?”

She simply looks at him.

Jim turns a faded brown knob to a local channel, twists the tin foil a little higher, and suddenly the sound of a woman’s voice spills forth. But the picture remains stubbornly shoddy.

Lady Q raises her voice, demanding, “Well?”

He turns to her, grins because he can’t help himself and holds up his finger in a gesture of _just you wait_. Then he gives the side of the television a solid, resounding _whack_.

The picture clears to reveal a commercial of a little girl holding toothbrush and a tube of Colgate toothpaste and grinning.

“Excellent!” cries Lady Q. “Sit, sit!” She points at a second chair (why do they keep appearing?) next to her.

He does, and together they watch two commercials and the beginning of a cartoon in silence before Lady Q makes a noise of disgust. She says, “I had hoped to see a newsreport.”

“It’s too late for the morning news,” explains Jim. “We can watch the evening news, though.”

She turns to him, eyes gleaming. “We mustn’t miss it!”

There is a funny fluttering in his stomach. “Why?” he asks.

She pats his hand. “Good things come to those who wait, child. Now—have you had breakfast?”

His stomach growls pitifully. “No,” Jim admits, sheepish.

“We shall have a light snack, to not spoil our luncheon, of course. Tonight,” she adds, fanning herself, “I think we shall dine in the Velvet Room. Yes, I believe so. Come, then!” Lady Q hops off her chair like a woman a quarter of her age. “I have many activities planned for you today, James—many activities. Let it never be said that the Q are poor hosts!”

He scrambles after her, not unlike her attendants, but Lady Q is already marching far ahead of them all, skirt swishing. “—waltz—" she is saying, and “—gentleman’s fitting. Have we remembered to procure the tailor?”

Jim is thinking he really shouldn’t have gotten in that car in the first place.

~~~

He pulls at the collar of his new doublet (courtesy of Lady Q) when no one is looking and wonders if he will have to rip a seam or two to peel it off his person. It’s a deep blue, a color the old woman insists matches his eyes when he is in a fury. “Like a war general upon the battlefield, driving his men forward over enemy lines!”

Lady Q may be the most fanciful person Jim has ever met. The longer he stays in her company, deeper his conviction grows that she is the least sane being in this compound. Maybe being cooped up here has made her that way.

All the more reason for Jim to get the hell out.

Lady Q becomes more vibrant by the hour; the rest of the Q seem to sink into pit of despair, like she is feeding on their energy. And Jim is, quite bluntly, the man stuck in the middle of it all.

He has been watched like a hawk all day by unobtrusive shadows, people (both men and women) whose eyes are always upon his back, judging his every movement. Never mind that Lady Q was a whirlwind of petticoats spinning in every which direction as she commanded and demanded and dragged Jim around like a beloved toy with half of its stuffing hanging out.

Jim is not certain if the Q (minus her Ladyship) are wary of what he might do or more wary of what he might _not_ do.

His shoulder is rapped sharply with the end of that ever-present fan. Jim has come to the conclusion that the fan’s only purpose is to serve as a menacing, unexpected weapon.

“James, pay attention! And sit still.”

He couldn’t possibly be any stiller—the doublet is an iron vice around his ribs.

She looks pointedly at his leg. Jim stops bouncing it.

They are back in the twin chairs, watching the television. The window is open and outside it’s dusk. Jim is glad for the fresh air; his outfit smells of age and dust.

_…Welcome to the 6 o’clock news in Riverside, Iowa. I’m your host…_

Lady Q leans forward in anticipation, snapping her fan closed. She whispers, “Now we shall see, James, just how the world forges on without us.”

Jim’s hands reflexively lock onto his knees.

_…the situation continues to spiral out of control. Greg, can you update us on the latest developments?_

The screen switches over to a man with microphone standing on a corner of Main street, right near a café Jim likes. His tone is grave: _Word has spread like wildfire through the community, Laurie. It is unlikely that there is a man, woman, or child who does not know of the kidnapping of James Tiberius Kirk—_

Jim chokes on his own spit.

_—two nights ago at gun point. To recap for those of you just tuning in: James—or known as Jim to his family and friends—was last seen by Mr. Hikaru Sulu, chef at The Diner, outside a 7-eleven gas station, who claims Jim was forced to enter an unknown vehicle in order to spare the life of Mr. Sulu._

“How absurd!” scoffs the old woman. “We Q do not shoot people.”

_Kirk’s mother made a public statement to the press late yesterday afternoon, after forcing her way into the Channel 4 News station. In this statement, she shocked the town of Riverside by claiming that this was the second—yes, the SECOND—act of unwarranted violence committed against her only child. She did not elaborate on the details of her claim but the news team received an anonymous tip within hours that James Kirk had injuries incongruent with a reported motorcycle accident some weeks ago, injuries such rope burns on his wrists. Authorities deny any knowledge of the injuries, however, saying the story cannot be validated if it was not written in the official report. They proclaim that Ms. Kirk is “under severe stress from the unusual disappearance of her son.”_

Lady Q makes a rude noise at the television. It's hard for Jim to breathe, it seems, in a most awful way.

The male reporter hands the proverbial ball back to his colleague, Laurie, inside the Channel 4 news station.

 _We will come back to Greg in a moment. Folks, we have breaking news. A few hours ago, politician Trelane—_ A snapshot of Trelane appears. _—was attacked while giving a speech to the Riverside Garden Society. We have a clip—as you can see, several individuals pushed through the crowd to the stage. Trelane’s bodyguards formed a barricade and Trelane left the podium, but someone else slipped around the confusion and approached Trelane from the opposite direction._

The video enhances, taking up the whole television screen.

Winona Kirk steps in front of Trelane and yells something. Trelane shakes his head, denying her accusation. One of the bodyguards in the background goes down like a sack of potatoes and a man darts across the other end of the stage towards Trelane and Winona. The rest happens so quickly, Jim is left reeling: Trelane, tapping his umbrella on the ground impatiently, attempts to sidestep Winona Kirk. She jerks the umbrella out of his hands, swings it in a wide arc, and whaps Trelane solidly across the back of his head. Trelane shrieks in surprise, she raises the umbrella again (clearly intent on beating him senseless with it; Jim hears her cry of “WHERE IS HE!”) only to be hauled backwards by the man who has finally made it across the stage, whose face (caught by the camera zooming in on the action) is Bones’, as grim as Jim has ever seen it. Winona twists like a wild woman in Bones’ arms, still gripping the umbrella, and screams at Trelane. Trelane, in turns, cries out, "Somebody help me!"

The video clip ends.

 _The woman was taken into custody by the police, along with her accomplices. Her identity has just been formally released to the public._ The reporter pauses for dramatic effect. _Winona Kirk—mother of the missing James Tiberius Kirk. No official statement has been given by either party as to the nature of the attack. Trelane, after inspection by an EMT, refused to go to the hospital and is said to have no lasting damage from the blow to his head. Back to you, Greg._

The man blinks at the camera. _That is certainly surprising news. One can only speculate why the enraged mother went after Wesley’s opponent. Does Winona Kirk suspect Trelane in the kidnapping of her son and, if so, why? I fear we may not have those answers for some time. Trelane has already refused a Channel 4 News interview on the subject, stating: “I have no acquaintance with Winona Kirk, but clearly she is an unstable woman.”_

Jim jumps to his feet, anger overriding the shock at seeing his mother whack a man with an umbrella. "Trelane should be the one under arrest, not Mom!"

Lady Q says soothingly, "You mustn't fret, James."

He rounds on her. "Are you happy now? My mother is in JAIL!"

"Is she?" asks the old woman mildly.

Jim demands, "What does that mean?"

"Only that the Riverside Sheriff has to be a fool to think an upstanding woman like Ms. Winona Kirk beats a man in public without a good reason."

"Komack is in Trelane's pocket," spits Kirk.

Lady Q's mouth turns up at the corners. "Oh that's not possible, dear, because Komack has always been in _my_ pocket."

Jim stares at her, speechless.

Her eyes twinkle merrily. "Komack is an old friend of the Q, if somewhat of a sourpuss."

"Komack hates me."

"The Sheriff was my first source of information about you, James. I would not say he _detests_ you, but he certainly did not appreciate your penchant for trouble when you were younger and men such as Komack have long memories."

Jim tries to make sense of what she is saying. "Trelane... and Komack."

"Are two wolves in sheep's clothing," supplies Lady Q, "expect that Komack is, shall we say, a _good_ wolf."

"I need to sit down."

"Please do. I cannot see the little box when you are standing."

~~~

The woman—Lady Q's personal assistant apparently—from the Jim's first night at the Q compound slips into the Velvet Room and whispers in Lady Q's ear. Not that Jim could hear a word if she were talking in a regular voice. He is on the opposite end of a very long table; the seat of the man of the house, he is told, which makes Jim nervous.

"Is there a mob, too?" cries the old woman gleefully.

The other Q whispers something else. Lady Q's expression falls in disappointment and she says, "Bring him then, I suppose, if it is so important."

The ruler of the Q picks up her glass of wine and sips at it. "James," she calls, "how is your dinner?"

Jim eyes the roast piglet platter, complete with an apple in its mouth, not an arm's length away from his plate. He is beginning to rethink his love of pork. "Great," Kirk calls back. The food on the dining table might be more for ceremony than consumption. And Lady Q isn't eating roast piglet on her end, either.

The door to the Velvet Room opens again to admit a newcomer. The guest fumbles over to the table.

"Mr. Mudd," Lady Q greets, and Jim is glad he isn't the receipient of that tone.

Harry Mudd dabs at his forehead with his coat sleeve. "Your Ladyship, pardon the interruption at this late hour. I have word from..." The man trails off, finally noticing who is gracing the other end of the table. "Kirk!" squeaks Mudd. "You're alive!"

Lady Q frowns. "Why wouldn't he be? Sit, Mr. Mudd, and stop gawking."

Harry drags out a chair and falls into it, murmuring his thanks. He looks between Lady Q and Jim. "Trelane said—"

Lady Q cracks her dinner fork against the table. "Mr. Mudd! Have you been consorting with that abominable man?"

"No! No, of course not, your Ladyship!" protests the man with great haste. "I work only for the Q, and Trelane is not Q," Mudd adds obediently.

The dinner fork strikes the table again. "Do not lie to me! I will remind you," says the old woman ominously, "that you were indebted to my late husband for his kindness and thus now to me. If you return to your scoundrel ways, Mr. Mudd, you will find no safe haven here and I shall see you cast upon the stoning grounds myself!"

Jim watches in awe as Harry Mudd bleats his profuse apologies. "I would not deal with Trelane, your Ladyship! The man came to me! He—" Mudd visibly swallows. "—asks me to bring you his terms."

Lady Q says nothing.

Harry flicks a glance at Jim. "Trelane will return the Lord Q's journals—in exchange for—" the man falters.

"Well?" says the hard-eyed woman. "What does he want?"

"Kirk's release," finishes Mudd. "His body, to be exact. Sorry, Jamey-boy," adds the man to Jim.

Jim is frozen by an icy dread. Lady Q's silence extends for some seconds. Then she asks politely, "What type of death does Trelane wish for Kirk to endure?"

The pale, sweating man answers, "He says he wouldn't presume to tell a Q how to clean up a mess. Only that you will find the journals in Saturday's paper if you don't cast the suspicion off him for Kirk's kidnapping."

"I accept," she says casually. Lady Q reaches for the bell buy her hand and rings it. "Now you must leave, Mr. Mudd. The sight of you ruins my appetite." A man escorts Harry Mudd from the dining room.

Lady Q sighs heavily. "I hope you do not think ill of me, James, for the role I played tonight. Lord Q was a good man—but he had the most foolish habit of recording his trials and tribulations with the world beyond these walls. Some of those tales must never be known to the public—to those who are not Q—for their own safety."

"So that's it? That's your apology," he asks, voice flat, "for selling me out? Sorry but my life is less valuable than your family secrets?" He had begun to trust this ridiculously eccentric woman.

"I like you," she says. "You have potential, James Tiberius Kirk. Particularly in that coat—a coat for a captain."

He slams his fist onto the table. "I won't roll over and die!"

"Of course you won't, as I won't be blackmailed by a foolish boy like Trelane," responds Lady Q in all seriousness. "No, we must play this game another way to win." She takes a delicate bite of a prune.

Jim looks down at his plate. "But how are we going to do that?" he muses.

"We must contact your friends, of course." She selects another dried fruit from a bowl. "I am certain that all of us, together, can come up with a solution to kill you without your death remaining permanent." She adds austerely, as Jim makes a strangled noise across the table, "Finish your food, dear. One must first suffer through the horrible peas and carrots in order to get to the dessert!"


	25. Part Twenty-Five

Jim is anxious. When Lady Q had said “contact” his friends, she actually met “kidnap them, too.” Her reasoning, however, is that it isn’t kidnapping. It’s an offer they won’t want to refuse—to see their missing friend Jim. Without making a scene, of course.

She had asked, “Who do you want retrieved?”

“Bones and Spock” had automatically popped out of his mouth.

Lady Q inquired who Bones was. He told her. She laughed in delight.

“What about my mother?” Kirk needed to know.

“I’m afraid that would not be the best route, James,” Lady Q had said. “But I will see to it that a letter is delivered to her, if you like.”

“I’ll write it,” he insisted.

“Very well,” agreed the old woman. “Choose your words with care, however, young man. Assure her that you are safe and will return—but no more.”

He did that and added in two details: one, that he is glad she left her shotgun behind when she confronted Trelane (Winona will understand that reference) and, two, that he is calling in some help to handle a problem, so would she please tell Spock’s mother that he won’t let anything bad happen to Spock ( _or Bones either, Mom, though Bones is probably going to find an umbrella of his own so he can beat me with it for good measure. I promise I’ll come home soon. Love, Jimmy._ )

Agents of the Q were dispatched to accomplish their respective goals, and Jim was left behind to wait for the arrival of his soon-to-be co-conspirators. Lady Q grew tired of his pacing and exiled him to a courtyard.

Jim is currently settled on a bench, counting a line of ants marching through a crack in the stone patio. Something soft brushes against his ankle.

_Meow._

_Meow meeeow._

“Where did you come from?” he wonders, bemused, and picks up a terribly cute orange tabby kitten. It licks his palm with a rough tongue and answers his question with a high-pitched _meow!_ Jim strokes the little body with a fingertip. The kitten likes that and arches into his touch.

He sighs and sits back, cradling the kitten to his chest. It picks at his t-shirt.

How much longer? Are they going to hate him for what he agreed to do?

Well, no matter what Bones and Spock think of Jim, Jim is fairly vibrating with the need to see them. He misses the scent of Bones and, crazily enough, the steady presence of Spock at his back. Jim begins to realize just how much he has come to rely on the knowledge that they are close by, are a part of his life even in a small way. And he thinks _they_ with no small amount of surprise. What had happened to his wariness over Spock? It’s simply gone.

Or his despondency over Spock and Bones being together?

Overpowered by the relief that they (at least) have each other, that it is all right if they are not with Jim, because he knows Bones and Spock are solid support for one another. He is almost happy, which strikes Jim as kind of weird. Unexpected.

The kitten struggles in his light grasp, determined to get away. Jim says, “I understand” and lets it go, watching it scamper across the courtyard toward a tall tree.

He buries his hands into his hair and gets up to pace again.

 _Please don’t fight the Q_ , he sends out. _Please just get here!_

Twenty minutes later and Jim is beginning to tire of being in the sunshine. He scratches his fingers along his stubbled cheek. Does Lady Q expect him to grow a beard? _Because that’s not going happen._

Bored now that his nerves have given way to impatience, Jim is looking around for the mysterious kitten when he hears a faint _meow_.

Not behind a potted plant, not tackling flowers like it had been at one point, and not chasing a grasshopper.

The next series of _meow_ ’s are louder, like cries for help. And they are above him.

He glances up into the tree and blanches. Said-kitty is tottering along a limb very high above the ground and peering over the limb's edge, panting with anxiety.

He doesn’t have to think about what he’s going to do because he’s Jim Kirk and, really, that means he has only one choice. Jim pulls off his sneakers and socks, drops them at the base of the tree, and starts climbing.

The kitten stops meowing to watch him in rapt fascination. Except when he reaches the midway point, it turns and goes in the wrong direction.

“No!” he shouts at it. “Stop, kitty, stop!”

The tabby kitten (because it can, being as tiny as it is) wobbles along the small twigs spanning the distance between the tree and the rooftop. Jim curses and climbs faster but once he is almost level with the correct limb, the kitten has made it safely to the tiled roof and is confused at how it got there.

It wanders along the roof’s edge with a plaintive _meow? meow?_

Jim scrambles along the limb, wincing at the bark digging into his bare feet. He spits a haphazard leaf out of his mouth.

“Stop that!” he tells the kitten as it cranes its head over the edge and looks at the ground. His heart does an unpleasant jig in his chest.

Suddenly there are two sharp cries of “Jim!” and a “Ssshit!” far below him.

The chorus of surprised voices startles Jim enough that he clutches at the limb under his hands in a desperate bid to regain his balance (he had forgotten momentarily about everything but the stranded tabby). Finally in a safe position to peek downwards, Jim looks at the group of people crowded under the tree and quirks his mouth sheepishly.

“Uh, hey!”

“Jim,” repeats a wide-eyed Bones, voice strangled, “God, Jim—what are—you’re—" Once the man's initial shock has passed, “ _You idiot, get out of that tree!_ ”

“I can’t,” he yells back.

“Get down here now!” and, wow, Bones is actually kind of shrieking in a panicky way.

The kitten meows, frightened, beyond his reach. Still firmly decided Kirk shakes his head, though as slowly as possible so he does not dislodge himself from his perch. He points at the baby feline. “Roof. Kitten. Me save.”

Bones apparently doesn’t like his sense of humor. Jim glances down again and catches sight of Spock to the side of Bones, turned away and handing his jacket to... Uhura?

Jim resolutely keeps going. Bones cries, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get the kitten,” he says, stubborn.

“Great, wonderful! I shoulda known you weren’t a hostage or dead in a ditch—YOU’VE BEEN RESCUIN’ CATS FROM TREES!!!”

Technically the kitten is on the roof but Jim doubts Bones will appreciate the correction. Besides, yelling is obviously cathartic for Dr. Leonard McCoy.

Once Kirk is farther out on the limb, it sways under his weight because, well, he isn’t a ten-ounce fluffball of fur. He’s a grown man. Jim crawls a little ways and is then forced to kneel and shuffle so he can reach the smaller branches for balance. “C’mere, kitty,” he calls. “Kitty, kitty, kitty!”

The distance between the branch and the roof isn’t too wide. Jim only hesitates for a second, locking his legs around the branch, before flinging his upper body across the space and catching the edge of the roof. Someone shrieks below. It might be Uhura, or it might not.

Okay, awkward angle. Hands on roof, twisted torso, legs scraping against the branch. Nope, not gonna last for very long.

The kitten has stopped peering over the edge of the roof to turn its head and meow curiously at him. He wills it to come closer.

_Meow? Meow?_

“Here, kitty, kitty,” he coaxes in a slightly strained voice.

It wobbles over to his left hand. Drawing in a breath, he braces his weight on his right hand and picks up the kitten.

Now one-handed on the roof. Definitely not good.

“He's gonna get himself killed! JIM!”

“Shut up!” he shouts, “I’m thinking!” The kitten starts biting one of his fingers.

Jim decides that he doesn’t have a better option than letting go, so he does. He is mindful not to crush the suddenly terrified kitten in his hand as he swings downward, cursing “Shit!” and prays his heart does not pop out of his chest. Legs now in a death grip on the thick limb and crossed at the ankles, Jim hangs upside down with a mouth full of leaves and definitely some small branches poking in all the wrong places. The kitten is limp is in his hand. Kirk lifts it to his upside-down face and tells it, “Hey, everything's okay, you’re okay.”

He isn’t as young as he used to be. All the blood draining to his head makes him dizzy.

Below someone curses, “Jesus fucking Christ!” A burr soothes, “Ye can open yer eyes, Doctor. He’s still in the tree.”

Scotty?

Jim swivels his head to get a better look and instead gasps at the sight of Spock in his face.

“Uh, hi, Spock.”

“Jim,” replies the lawyer mildly, looking strange standing in a tree while in a crisp white shirt (minus a jacket), dark pants, and polished shoes. “Do you require assistance?”

Jim blinks. Then the kitty in his hand makes a noise to indicate that it has recovered, and he thrusts it at the calm man.

“Here, take Bo Peep. She’s scared.” (That’s how names come to Jim sometimes—out of the blue. She looks like a Bo Peep.)

Spock, somehow perfectly balanced on the tree limb beneath the hanging Kirk, has no choice but to take the kitten. Spock cups the tiny animal in his hands and stares at it for a short moment. The kitten returns the stare, twitches its tail, and says _meow!_

Jim sighs in relief, arms hanging loosely, as Spock edges back down the tree with the rescued kitty. In the lower branches there is a flash of color, someone else, and Jim hastily pushes a clump of leaves out of his way to look. Spock transfers the kitten into the care of Pavel Chekov, who is clutching the trunk of the tree halfway between Jim’s high limb and the ground. Chekov scoots down the trunk a few feet and then leans over to hand off the kitten to _another_ person—Sulu, sitting on the first big branch of the tree. Directly below Sulu, on the ground, is Bones, staring balefully up into the tree containing four men. Bones reaches up and takes the kitten from Sulu.

“All right, Tarzan,” calls the doctor. “The cat’s safe!”

He thinks ridiculously (despite how much it might prick at Jim's pride) that Spock is probably Tarzan. Wait. Does that make him Jane?

Kirk's legs are beginning to cramp painfully. Which means Jim might have a less pleasant descent than Bo Peep. He grimaces and takes several deep breaths in preparation to do the Sit-Up of all sit-ups and pull himself back into an upright position. He begins to swing his arms for momentum.

But at the last second, Spock is back and latched onto him. Jim protests, "Hey!" and almost forgets that his legs need to hang onto the overhead limb or he'll fall.

“I have you, Jim,” Spock insists. “Put your arms around my neck.”

“That’s not going to work,” he retorts.

“Trust me.”

“We’re going to fall,” he argues but, still, Jim locks his arms around Spock’s neck—which is not easy, being upside down.

Hands support his middle. “Let go.”

Jim relaxes the muscles in his legs. Spock takes his weight (really, Jim is surprised they don’t topple over) and helps Jim eases down to the limb Spock is on. Jim ends up pressed against Spock, his hands gripping the back of the man’s shirt. Spock doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, for a brief second, the man’s arms tighten around Jim.

Jim pulls away, saying, “Spock, you have awesome balance" instead of professing the sentimental _I think I love you_ in his head.

“Thank you,” replies the lawyer gravely.

Spock somehow practically carries Jim down to Chekov’s level, whereupon Pavel says, “I am wery happy to see you, Jim,” and assists Jim in his descent to Sulu. Sulu makes Jim lean against the trunk while Sulu jumps to the ground and stands next to Bones. Then Sulu calls, “Come down.”

Jim hangs from the branch the right way up this time and feels Sulu grab one of his legs and Bones the other. He slides to the ground, supported by the two men.

There is no time to thank anybody after because Bones jumps on him and hugs him hard enough to make his ribs ache. Jim gives in to one need and lets his head sink down onto Leonard’s shoulder. They stay like that long enough for Sulu to help Chekov out of the tree and Spock—as his mother had said, who climbs like a monkey—to descend with ease and retrieve his jacket from Uhura.

When McCoy finally lets Jim go, Jim can’t help but quip, “Wasn’t that fun?”

“I hate you,” Leonard says.

Jim’s grin is dopey. “You might wish you did.”

He sees Scotty standing behind Bones, cradling the kitten. The man blinks at Jim, then down at the kitten, before slowly placing Bo Peep on a patch of grass. Bo Peep toddles away with a happy _meow meow!_

Close to Scotty is Uhura. Her face is strangely blank. Jim runs a hand down Bones’ arm before stepping around the man to his oldest friend.

“Hey, Uhura,” he says softly.

For a long moment the young woman is silent. Then cryptically, Nyota says, “Now I know.”

Jim promptly replies, “Know what?”

“How many men it takes to get a Jim Kirk out of a tree.”

He turns to the people behind him and makes a point of counting. “Four?”

“Yeah,” Uhura agrees. Then her eyes spark with the first flare of life. “But it only takes one woman to do this!” She punches him in the chest, hard.

“Ow!” Jim protests, rocking back on his heels. “That hurt!” he complains, secretly glad for the reaction.

“You didn’t _call_ me, Jim,” Nyota shouts fiercely.

“This place doesn’t have a telephone!” he retorts. “What was I supposed to do, send you a carrier pigeon?”

Her face crumples without warning, and Jim drags Nyota in (much like Bones did to him), wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She sniffles into his shoulder after a minute and whispers, “Forgiven.” Nyota pushes him away immediately after and wipes her eyes. Jim knows how much the thought of losing people really breaks her apart.

"The kitten's climbing the tree again," interrupts Sulu.

Jim dashes between Scotty and Pavel and gently pries the kitten's claws from the bark of the tree trunk. "No, Bo Peep," he admonishes it.

The kitten complains. He carries it over to Spock without a second's thought and sets it on the man's shoulder, and coos, "There, this is a much better place to be. See?"

Bo Peep digs claws into Spock's jacket and looks down. The height must be just right, because the kitten seems content to settle there and _meow_ at everyone.

Spock raises his eyebrow at Jim. Jim smiles.

He finally has the chance to look around and observe everyone circling him. Bones, Spock, Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, and Scotty.

He asks curiously, "How did you all fit into a single car?"

"We didn't," replies Sulu. "We made them fetch a limo."

Jim has a hard time keeping his mouth closed.

Nyota plants her hands on her hips. "What did you expect? A man shows up at the diner saying he'll take Dr. Leonard McCoy and Mr. Spock to James Kirk and was stupid enough not to whisper it."

Jim can easily imagine how that went over. Uhura probably tried to punch the man when he said she wasn't included in the invitation (with more zeal than she punched Jim, no doubt) and Sulu came to investigate and Pavel declared he was going with Uhura and Leonard and Spock, which meant Sulu was going too.

Jim looks at Scotty. The man shrugs and says, "The more, the better."

"Who's watching Sasha?" he wants to know.

"Sasha is with Mr. Spock's parents," explains Chekov. "When Dr. McCoy said he knew who took you after Hikaru gave him your message, we all wanted to go to find this Trelane. Ms. Amanda offered to watch my sister while we went."

Jim demands, "Whose idea was it to set my mother on Trelane?"

McCoy folds his arms. "What makes you think we had any say in that?"

Chekov nods furiously while Scotty remarks, "Yer mother, she was scary. I wouldna've argued with her for all the gold 'n silver of a faery."

Bones fixes hard eyes on Jim. "Was it Trelane?" Jim is asked bluntly.

"Not this time but before? Yeah," Kirk admits.

"I'll kill 'im" is Leonard's fierce reply.

"No you won't, Bones. But we will find a way to expose him. That's part of the reason you're here."

Spock says firmly, "We are here to rescue you."

There is a brief span of seconds where Jim feels warm just looking at Spock (and the kitten curled up on Spock's shoulder).

"Jim..." Uhura grabs his attention. "We're—with the Q, aren't we? The windows of the limo were blacked out but what else could _this_ place be?" She indicates the large structure around them, her sharp eyes saying she misses nothing.

"I'd rather know when we'll be leavin'," interjects Scotty, darting looks around the courtyard. "I dinnae like the mugs of those lads at the gate."

He raises his hand to forestall other questions or comments. "We are on the Q—campus. That's what they call it, a campus."

"Like a school?" muses Bones, brows frowning.

"Not from what I have seen. Doesn't matter, though. While I can't say I have been held hostage by the Q, I was strongly advised to stay here. I doubt we will be allowed to leave until we have a plan to stop Trelane." He pauses, then continues, having come to some decisions last night when he couldn't sleep. "If you want out now, I'll fight for you. You have my word on that. But I want Trelane out of Riverside, so I'm staying until it is accomplished."

He cannot read Bones' expression. Sulu asks, "How bad is Trelane?"

"He likes to watch people suffer. Pavel, he's the guy who had the cellphone in the diner. He found out about—your past and used it to scare you. And he did it to get at me too." Jim closes his eyes for a moment. "Trelane ordered me to remove Bob from the running for mayor. I wouldn't do it, and he's been making my life hell ever since."

Nyota gasps, Pavel and Scotty have eyes which are the size of quarters, Spock tenses (which barely disturbs Bo Peep) and Sulu's face grows grim. Bones demands, "Why you?"

Kirk shrugs. "Maybe I was conveniently available to torture? Because I'm close to Bob? Who the fuck knows, Bones. I don't."

"You said you couldn't go to the police," Leonard states softly, silently asking Jim for further explanation.

The time for holding back has passed. "One of the deputies handed me over to Trelane and tossed my bike in the gravel pit," he says flatly. "Does that answer your question?"

Too well, by the look in McCoy's eyes.

Jim steps back, putting a careful distance him and his friends. "We can talk about this inside. There is also someone you need to meet, if you decide to help. Though to be honest, I would rather not involve any of you in this situation. I'd do this alone, if I could."

"What is it you require of us?" asks Spock, breaking the silence.

Jim hedges, "You won't like it."

"Jim," Leonard says, "I don't like _anything_ you've said so far."

"We have to find a way to kill me." Bones pales. Kirk quickly amends, "I mean kill me without actually killing me—for real."

Leonard lays a hand over his eyes. "You don't ask for much, do you, kid?"

"It's not like I'm keen on dying, Bones!"

"You'd better not be!" snaps McCoy. "And _of course_ I'm in, because if you plan on doing something so damned crazy you'll need your God-damned doctor!"

Uhura says, "Count me in. And I want first dibs on strangling Kirk—I'll have to practice, of course."

Jim knows from experience that if he bolts for safety, Nyota is a faster runner than he is (and has a mean tackle too). Her expression dares him to try.

Chekov offers to help think of ideas, Sulu says he is good with both a blade and a long-range rifle (Jim has to remember to introduce Sulu and Jose if he survives), and Scotty scratches his head thoughtfully, asking if there are tools somewhere about the estate.

Spock says, "Do not forget your footwear, Jim" and glides smoothly toward the door of the inner courtyard with Bo Peep clinging to the curve of his shoulder. The lawyer waits for the rest of them to catch up; Jim does, after hastily stuffing his bare feet into his sneakers and his socks into his jean pocket.

Lady Q had said, before she pitched him out into courtyard, "I do not understand why you are anxious. Wherever you go, your family follows."

"How can you know that?" he had asked, still uncertain.

"You belong to them, James," she smiled knowingly, “as intrinsically as they belong to you. It could never be otherwise."

Maybe there is some truth to her words after all, he thinks as he winds a path into the heart of the building, to Lady Q who waits patiently to meet Jim’s friends, because he is leading and they—all six well-advised but determined people—are right on his heels every step of the way.


	26. Part Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized passages are scenes out of sequence.

_Trelane flips back the sheet and stares at the bloodless face streaked with evidence of fire for a long moment. He touches the bruises around his throat in memory._

_The mortician asks, "Is this your friend, sir?"_

_"He is remarkably whole," Trelane states._

_"The body was pulled outta the building before it could burn. Poor bastard was already gone, though."_

_"Mm, yes," the man answers, finally acknowledging the question. "This was my friend. Thank you for allowing me a look."_

_"Sorry for your loss."_

_The mortician wouldn't understand his reply so Trelane says nothing. He limps away from the morgue, missing his umbrella and still uneasy. He had been fooled once before. He can only hope that James T. Kirk is properly_ dead _this time._

_Trelane suspects Lady Q as his betrayer, and so the deal between them is null and void. Let it be known that Trelane is a man not to be trifled with. Though his revenge will be such a small consolation in light of his great loss, of his ruined dream._

_Ah well. There are plenty of other cities in this country he could conquer._

 

~~~

 

"Madam, are ye feeling a'right?" Scotty asks the woman brandishing a fan like a tiny dagger beneath the nose of one round-eyed Pavel Chekov. "Do ye need to sit doun?"

Lady Q stills her fan and turns, face an unhealthy shade of red. "He is a _Russian!_ " she exclaims to Montgomery Scott, who blinks, not comprehending the implied seriousness of the situation.

Scotty shrugs. "Me mother's Scottish."

Lady Q rustles her dress in irritation. Chekov uses the moment of distraction to cower behind Sulu. When Lady Q finds that the object of her dismay has slipped away, she whirls on Kirk. "James, I will not permit Russians in the house of the Q!"

Jim tilts his head in an imitation of Spock and asks "Why?" with genuine curiosity.

The old woman appears scandalized that he would have to ask. "They are our enemy!"

Bones intervenes dryly, "You know the Cold War is over, right?"

Lady Q sails over to McCoy and stops within a foot of him before snapping open her fan and peering at Leonard over the top of it. "Introduce yourself," she commands.

"I already told you this is Bones," begins Jim.

McCoy and Lady Q both ignore Kirk. Leonard lifts an eyebrow in amusement and, after looking Lady Q over, seems to come to some decision. The man executes a proper bow and drawls, "Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy, ma'am. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Lady Q holds out one of her hands. McCoy kisses the top of it as a gentleman is supposed to. The old woman sniffs from behind her fan, appeased, before lowering it to say, "Your acquaintance is also well-received, Dr. McCoy. Now you may proceed with your explanation."

Leonard looks at Jim as if to say _is she real?_ Jim gives him a thumbs-up out of range of Lady Q.

McCoy clears his throat. "I meant no offense, ma'am. I just don't see a reason for your prejudice against a poor Russian kid."

Her glance flicks over to Pavel. "He does look quite poor. However the Russians have no love for the Q—"

Pavel looks as confused as everyone else, Jim notes.

"—nor the Q for the Russians. They will say they invented any number of things which are nothing but bold-faced lies!"

Pavel pipes up, "Vodka was invented in Russia" like he is trying to be helpful.

"AH HA! Vodka was _not_ invented in Russia!" she cries triumphantly.

Jim puts a hand over his face and sighs. Chekov whispers something in Sulu's ear, probably _does she bite?_

Spock, on the other hand, is tired of this nonsense. "Lady Q, Mr. Chekov humbly requests that you pardon his presence in your home for a brief period of time. He bears no ill intentions toward your person; in fact I suspect the opposite. If you are amendable, perhaps you shall be the first of your kind, along with the aid of Mr. Chekov, to seek to foster an improved relationship between the... Q and the Russians."

Lady Q has stopped fanning herself to consider this alternative. "James, will you vouch for your Pavel Chekov?"

"Yes, your Ladyship," Jim replies with all the gravity and dignity he can muster. (Really, though, it's difficult because she is being ridiculous.)

Lady Q nods decisively. "I will be a gracious hostess, even to an ungracious enemy." Then she fixes a pointed stare upon McCoy until McCoy realizes he needs to present his arm, which the old woman then latches onto and proceeds to drag Leonard is a particular direction down the hallway.

Jim and Spock follow closely behind the pair but he still catches Sulu's "You'll be okay, Pavel, I promise. Older people aren't always sensible." After a pause Sulu adds, "Just don't drink or eat anything until I taste it first."

They have no idea, Jim thinks—no idea _at all_ how remarkably senseless Lady Q truly is. But the woman is also their best (and only) ally.

~~~

Jim's place of importance at the dining table is immediately—and unknowingly—usurped by Bones, who is ushered to the end opposite of Lady Q by a male attendant, per her Ladyship's explicit directions. Lady Q remarks loudly that she has not been in the company of a genuine old country doctor in years and it's rather exciting. Jim strategically uses Spock as a shield until the urge to giggle passes. McCoy shoots Kirk a bemused look when Lady Q directs her attention to her staff.

Lunch is a short affair. Nyota is interrogated as to why the young woman has yet to "take up with James—it's not as if he is aesthetically unpleasing, my dear."

Bones chokes on his salad, Jim melts into his chair, but Uhura laughs.

"I like my men less excitable than I am," she tells Lady Q. The matriarch seems to find this answer acceptable.

Jim isn't sure if he should be offended or not.

Spock, sitting to Lady Q's immediate right at her insistence, becomes an obvious favorite of hers after a quick and dirty bantering that may or may not help progress Jim's developing headache. She calls Spock "well-mannered and witty" and asks the lawyer if he needs a job.

Spock graciously declines. Lady Q seems to let that pass, except from Kirk's vantage point, Jim sees a certain look in the woman's eyes that says she is not the type to accept _no_ for long.

For a brief minute, silence envelopes the table. Then McCoy drops his fork onto his plate with a _clang_ and says, "Let's quit dancing around what we're here to do."

Lady Q blots delicately at the corner of her mouth, replaces her napkin, and then states calmly, "Ah, placing you at the head of the table was an excellent choice. I leave the discussion in your hands, Dr. McCoy."

Bones fiddles with his glass of water, now ill-at-ease. "What else am I supposed to say?"

"What is the deadline for determining our course of action?" Spock asks the eldest Q.

She stops nibbling on a slice of bread. "Tonight."

Jim scrubs his hands over his face, listening to pandemonium break out. No one pays attention to the other Q filing in with plates of fruit and cheese. After Jim has had his fill of noise and protest, he stands up and calls for order. "Guys, okay, enough!"

"The only kind of death you're going to get, Jim, on short notice is a REAL one," McCoy snaps. "We don't even have time to plan!"

"So we wing it!" Jim fires back.

Leonard shoots to his feet. "Do you _want_ to die? Because there's a good chance— _OW!_ " The doctor puts a hand to the back of his head where Uhura had smacked him. She glares over Leonard's shoulder at Jim.

"Sit down or I'll come over there too," she says in warning.

Jim immediately sits down.

Nyota Uhura crosses her arms, looking peeved that she had get out of her chair in the first place. "I want everyone to shut up." Then she focuses on the woman at the other end of the table. "You are the only one without something to say—which means you already have a plan."

Lady Q beams. "Of course I have a plan."

"Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?" complains Kirk.

Her amusement grows. "It wasn't until I met the Russian that the plan became clear to me, James. These things cannot be rushed."

"Well apparently they need to be..." grumbles McCoy but a quick glance at Uhura has the doctor closing his mouth again.

"There are many, many ways to kill a person," Lady Q states matter-of-factly. "What we need are believable circumstances, shocking but not unheard of. Common tragedies like robberies interrupted or car accidents or lightning strikes—" Scotty mouths _lightning strikes?_ "—are out of the question. Also, James, you are not a dealer in drugs, I presume?"

Jim shakes his head.

"I thought not. So we are left with one scenario of death that is tragic, not overly suspicious, and cannot be pinpointed as a crime committed by the politician Trelane." Her amusement fades. "It must be a hate crime."

Jim almost wants to ask _why would anyone hate me?_ but he knows better. Instead Kirk slumps in his chair. A hand lands on his shoulder. It belongs to Uhura, who has circled around to his chair. He covers her hand with his.

"Okay," he says, wincing at the sudden rough quality to his voice. He looks at Lady Q. "We can deal work with that."

The eyes which return his look are surprisingly sympathetic. "You are a strong man, James," she says, "and a brave one. I hope you never believe otherwise."

~~~

After lunch, Lady Q tells everyone they are look "peaky" and naps are in order all around. Jim suspects she might have another reason for dispersing their group, but he is feeling slightly numb and sleep does sound good.

Kirk and his friends stand together at a juncture of four long corridors. Lady Q directs her assortment of uniformed, silent men and women to escort each guest to a suitable bedroom. Uhura latches onto Scotty (who looks mildly shocked) and says she would nap better knowing she is only a few doors down from Scotty. Lady Q waves the pair off, saying, "I am certainly not a prude, Nyota dear. And Mr. Scott does seem to be the least 'excitable' of the bunch."

Her Ladyship's look lingers on Sulu and Chekov and though neither man says a word, she sends them both in the same direction. Her wink at Kirk is mixture of _Russian and Japanese, how unsurprising_ and _they'll find their way to each other if they want to._

Then she asks Bones if he needs a valet, beckons a male Q to offer his services to McCoy, and Jim has to interrupt. "Bones and Spock will stay with me," he says with a hint of determination.

Lady Q pins Jim with a sharp, speculative stare and tucks her fan away into a sleeve of her dress. "I see," she murmurs slowly and her stare moves on to inspect Spock and Leonard. "I suppose it was a foolish old woman's hope that you would have the sense to make a baby with some tartlet and secure your line before settling down with your paramours."

Jim's face turns bright red. He fumbles for a reply, only to come up with "Bones has a daughter."

Leonard's eye twitches as Lady Q's disappointment falls away and she lights up.

"Oh I approve! It will be such a simple task to have her last name changed to Kirk."

" _What!_ _Why you meddling_ —"

Jim grabs Bones' arm and reels him away the pleased matriarch of the Q. "C'mon, Bones. She's just talking."

Leonard sputters. Kirk notes how Spock walks behind them, in case Leonard should escape Jim's grasp. They make a rather good team, Jim decides, when it comes to herding McCoy.

Lady Q calls after the retreating men, "We will reconvene in five hours! Use your time wisely!"

Jim is blushing down to his toes as he leads Leonard and Spock to his room.

~~~

Jim idles on the edge of the neatly made bed and watches Spock fold his shirt and trousers. Behind Jim, Leonard comes out of the bathroom and says, "That's the damn biggest tub I've ever seen."

"I know," he replies absentmindedly.

Bones settles beside Jim on the bed and puts a warm hand on his leg, startling Kirk.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?" Jim looks at the man and forgets how to form words. McCoy has stripped off his shirt and Bones' bare chest is kind of distracting. Jim drags his eyes away, only to find Spock unabashedly in standing in front of them both in only an undershirt and briefs.

Now is about the right time for Jim to hide his face under a pillow and pretend he is saintly man above the carnal pleasures of the flesh.

Which. He. Really. Isn't.

"You are not prepared for bed," Spock says in that unassuming (completely terrifying) way of his.

"I think he's embarrassed," guesses McCoy.

"I am not!" Jim squeaks.

Leonard smiles slowly at Jim, and Jim's heart (and libido) does all manner of awkward stunts.

"You sure?" asks the green-eyed man (Bones' eyes change like the freaking wind and Jim loves it). "Not wearing your man-thong under there, are you, Jim-boy?"

Kirk's mouth ignores his sparking brain. "What would you do if I was, Bones?" he challenges.

Leonard smirks. "Question is... what will I do even if you aren't?"

McCoy's hand squeezes his thigh, and Jim falls off the bed in surprise. He scrambles away and around to the other side of the bed and cries "Bathroom!" like he's dying from an urgent need to pee. Once enclosed in the bathroom Jim's jelly-like legs give out and Kirk plops onto the floor.

 _Whoa._ What is the matter with him?

Because he is supposed to be doing bathroom-ly things, Jim gets up (never mind that his legs are still wobbly) and turns on the sink facet. He watches the water run for a second or two before pacing to the other side of the bathroom.

Sex is not bad.

Sex with Bones could NOT be bad. Sex with Bones and Spock? Probably REALLY NOT BAD.

Is he a fool for agonizing over this? Sex is comfort, and right now Jim could use a lot of comforting.

Except he doesn't want _let's-get-naked-before-Jim-dies_ sex, even though he had thought of his list of _the things I would do if I were going to die tomorrow..._ ages ago. A threesome was definitely on that list.

And now he's in the scenario and bowing out.

 _Life sucks_ , Jim decides and turns off the running water. He tosses his jeans into a corner, his t-shirt along with it, and jerks open the bathroom door.

Bones and Spock are standing close together. They turn to look at him, faces unreadable.

He smiles slightly and says, "Thanks for being here. I'm going to crash. I didn't get much sleep last night."

Jim drops the hand he had been rubbing the back of his neck with and crawls under the covers of the bed. Sighing (because this is his idiot moment of the year) he flings an arm over his eyes and asks, "Can someone close the curtains? Stupid sun."

Stupid, stupid Jim.

There is the sound of swooshing fabric. The light in the room dims. A body stretches out next to Jim, and Jim doesn't have to think about who is; only Bones wears that kind of aftershave.

Bones plants an arm across Jim and murmurs tentatively, "Jim?"

He drags his arm off of his eyes and blinks them open. McCoy is propped up on his elbow, looking at him, no doubt seeing right through him. Jim swallows against the lump in his throat. "Can we just pretend my life isn't epic-ly fucked up and I'm not going to get beat on in a few hours for being gay?"

"No one is going to hurt you, Jim," McCoy says in a fierce whisper.

"Not today, maybe. Who's to say it won't ever happen?" he asks, looking up at the ceiling. "I mean, that's why you came to Riverside, Bones—to get away from people who couldn't accept you for yourself."

A thumb strokes his cheek. "I haveta say, kid, I think I was pretty successful. I found you, didn't I?"

That makes him grin a little. "Actually I found you."

"Your momma gets the credit," McCoy says firmly, "'cause she insisted you give me that ride to the motel."

Jim sits up. "Oh, oh shit! I forgot!" The letter from his mother.

Spock skirts around the bed with the offer of "I will retrieve it."

The man is back in a second and holding out the folded letter to Jim. Jim takes it with a quick _thank you_. McCoy has switched a lamp on a side table so that Jim can read it without squinting.

_Jimmy,_

_I had to re-write this more than once. Most of the things I want to say can be said later. Come home. Please come home. I love you._

_Mom_

_PS: Amanda is here with me. She says ditto for both Spock and Leonard._

Jim hands the note to Bones and slumps under the covers. For the first time, Jim lets himself imagine what would happen if he didn't make it home. That makes him flip over onto his stomach and bury his face in his pillow to hide his tears.

Bones' gentle " _C'mere_ " is as soft as he touch when he tucks up against Jim's side. Jim gives in and turns into the man's arms. The mattress dips on the other side of the bed and a hand fleetingly touches his back, then slides along Jim's side. Jim reaches back and tugs on it, telling Spock without words that it is okay to touch him. Spock settles along Kirk's back, not quite against Jim but close enough that Jim can feel the heat of Spock's body.

After a while, cradled in the presence of both Leonard and Spock, Jim sinks into a calm that he hasn't felt in days. Jim finally eases onto his back again, surprised to find that he is sleepy. But he has to say the words, just in case. "If it goes wrong," Jim whispers, "tell her I love her. Don't... don't let her be alone."

"Okay, Jim" comes an equally soft whisper.

Jim closes his eyes and relaxes and drifts.

~~~

The Q who knocks on their bedroom door to fetch them some hours later says without preamble, "You are summoned to her Ladyship's side."

From the bathroom where Jim can spy Leonard pulling on his shirt, McCoy calls, "Why do I feel like I'm at a royal's Court but have no more status than a jester?"

"Lady Q believes herself to be royalty," Spock explains, already waiting by the door fully dressed. "The other Q enforce her beliefs. Why, however, I am not yet certain."

Jim pulls on a sock. "Sometimes it's better to let people have their delusions."

Spock asks, "Why would her station in life be a delusion if others accept her claim?"

"Okay, no more speculatin'," says Bones as he comes into the room and hands Jim the shoe he had been looking for. "I want to focus on my patient, not a crazy lady."

The Q leads them silently through the halls. Jim asks at one point, "Where are the others?"

"They are completing errands for her Ladyship, in preparation for this evening's task."

For some reason, Jim is certain that he does not wait to know the details of those errands. The Q indicates a half-open door. Jim nods his thanks. He walks into the room, sees who is sitting in a chair opposite of the doorway, and his blood runs cold.

Frank Rand pales. "You three? Oh fuck."

Someone's hand settles at the small of Jim's back ( _Spock's,_ Jim thinks) and Bones reminds Jim quietly, "We're with you" even though McCoy sounds no less surprised than Jim feels.

Breathing deeply, Jim locks down on his rampant emotions and ignores Frank. Lady Q waves to them from her perch on a settee across the room and calls, "James, James! Over here, dear."

Standing beside the seated Lady Q is Sheriff Komack. The man forgoes the standard _hello_ and holds out a folded letter to Kirk. "From your mother," the sheriff says shortly.

Jim brushes a thumb along the edge of the paper, almost giving into the need to open it, but decides to tuck the letter into his back pocket instead.

Lady Q explains sweetly, "The Sheriff has brought us a prop for our play."

"Hey," protests an agitated Deputy Rand, rising from his chair. "I got somewhere to be, lady."

"SIT!" bellows the old woman.

Rand sits.

"You will remain in that chair until you otherwise informed," she tells the frowning deputy sternly.

Frank clutches his hat in his hands and looks at Komack for support. Komack says, "Keep your seat, Frank."

It is McCoy who demands, "Why is that asshole here?"

"Language, please," tsks her Ladyship. "Dr. McCoy, if we are to stage a hate crime, we need a perpetrator."

Spock asks, "May I inquire why you believe Deputy Rand is a suitable choice for a perpetrator?"

McCoy looks askance at Spock, as if astonished how Spock can ask that and then looks at Jim for an explanation. Jim just shrugs and Spock ignores them both. The lawyer's attention is solely for Lady Q.

Lady Q folds her hands in her lap. "You are aware of my reasons but if you wish them stated aloud: Frank Rand is a small-minded, arrogant boot-licker. He is incapable of tolerance and compassion for others who do not adhere to his beliefs. Komack, I trully cannot understand why you allow such a man to defend the common citizen."

Komack looks like he has bit into something incredibly sour. "I won't disagree that a man needs to keep his prejudices to himself."

"He's a cop!" Leonard interrupts hotly. "It's his job to protect people—that means even from himself!"

Komack eyes McCoy with a grim expression. "There aren't many folks in Riverside who are willing to put themselves in the kind of danger an officer has to. Frank's been in my department a long time and he has worked hard for this town. I've never had a complaint about him."

"Yet you brought him here," Spock says flatly, "which indicates that you are aware of his disposition."

"I brought him here," is Komack's sharp response, "because he aided and abetted in a kidnapping."

Leonard's voice is soft and deadly. "'N what about those other times, _Sheriff_ , when your deputy was pushing Jim around and callin' him a _faggot?_ "

Lady Q grimaces.

Komack asks mildly, "Did you report it?"

Jim grips Bones' arm in warning. Kirk says, because he does have a margin of respect for the Sheriff of Riverside, "We made no report."

Komack's eyes are less hard when they land on Jim. "You have my apologies, Jim, for the behavior of one of my men, though I know doesn't do you much good. We all know you and Frank haven't ever gotten along—hell, _you and I_ don't really get along—"

Jim's mouth quirks at that. Komack has yet to forgive him for starting a brawl in the in the police station when he was seventeen.

"—but the law is the law. When someone breaks it, you tell me."

Jim nods.

Komack sighs and settles his hat on his head. "I've already let my wife know I won't be home for dinner, but that don't make her any less easy to handle. So let's get this show started." The sheriff walks over to his deputy and says, "You're quiet over here, Frank. Got nothing to say?"

Rand's jaw tightens. "I haven't done anything to Kirk and I don't plan on it."

"Now that's a lie, Frank, and everybody here knows it." Komack tells the other man, "You're working with Trelane, and you have already committed one crime that I know of. You have two options at this point, Frank: you can go to jail with as many charges as I can make stick, or you can save a man's life and redeem yourself."

"What am I supposed to do?"

Komack flicks a glance over to Lady Q, who nods. Komack folds his arms. "You're going to go to Trelane and tell him that some old woman blackmailed you into killing Kirk—and that you need help in disposing of the body."

Frank says, "Trelane doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself. He'd turn me in."

"Exactly. He'll come to me and tell me where the body is and said you did it. I won't believe him, of course, and then he'll try to build a case against you."

Spock interrupts with "Fascinating. The only other event which could connect Rand with Kirk, one which Trelane is aware of, will be the first kidnapping."

Komack nods. "So he'll say Rand tried to get rid of Kirk before and, when that failed, he tried again—and was successful."

"Why me?" Jim mumbles, slightly creeped out at how blithely everyone can talk about _his_ kidnapping and _his_ death and plan them into one big conspiracy. Bones' hand trail down his wrist and catch Jim's fingers and rub them gently.

Komack continues, "I'll get the details out of Trelane, make him take me to the body, and arrest him then. I have been collecting evidence against him, so if we can't hold him for long him on kidnapping charges, we'll find something else."

Lady Q adds a bit too excitedly, "And Mr. Spock shall be the prosecutor! Oh, how perfect!"

"What about me?" asks Frank Rand.

"You play your part, Frank," says Komack, "and we'll discuss the charges against you." Komack shoots a look at Jim.

Jim nods at the unspoken question. He doesn't want to let Frank go free and clear, and he may not have to, but that issue isn't as important right now as getting Trelane off the streets of Riverside and away from the people Jim loves.

Frank drops his head under the weight of their stares. "All right," agrees the deputy.

They begin ironing out the details.

~~~

Jim grins. “How do I look? Cool, right?”

“Only you would say that,” says McCoy dryly as the doctor measures a bottle of something medicinal.

Pavel says, “You look terrible.”

“I believe that is the point,” intones Spock. “Nyota, Jim could use more bruising under the right eye.”

“Do I want to know how you know how black eyes are supposed to look?” asks Kirk.

Spock lifts Jim’s arm without another word and rips a third tear in the sleeve of his dirty shirt (Kirk had to roll on the ground to get it that way).

When Sulu walks in the room with a big kitchen knife, Jim says hurriedly, “Hey, I thought we agreed no _real_ injuries?”

Leonard snorts. “Things would go a lot faster if we could do this the old fashioned way.”

Jim is too busy watching Sulu approach with the gleaming blade to answer properly. He manages, “Nope, better like this, kinda Halloween-y.”

Nyota pinches him then says innocently, “Don’t move while I’m applying the paint.”

Jim eyes the black stuff that might be eyeshadow or might not. “Is it going to wash off?”

“Yes, you baby,” Nyota retorts. “Here, Hikaru—here’s his hand.”

Jim wonders if sweating will mess up Uhura’s handiwork and earn him another pinch. “I like my fingers,” he says and tries to sit on his hand. “Please don’t cut off my fingers.”

Sulu shoots him a distinctly not-amused look. “Maybe the hate crime involved cutting out his tongue,” suggests the chef.

Jim automatically clamps his mouth shut.

“Score: Sulu,” mutters Bones.

Jim watches as Sulu examines his hand for a moment before letting it go. The man turns to a set of flesh-colored molding clay and begins making neat little slices into it, which Uhura then paints red like open wounds and applies to Jim’s knuckles. She says, “It’s better than abrading your skin. Just don’t do much with your hands, Jim, and it’ll stay on.”

“He won’t be able to do much,” McCoy cuts in, “not once I give him this cocktail.” The doctor holds up a vial of clear liquid.

“Tell me that isn't a date-rape drug,” Jim says.

Bones’ face sobers. “Not quite—more like a legal date-rape drug. It’ll knock you out for the most part, and when you start to come to you might feel somewhat paralyzed in your lower limbs.”

“But I won’t be completely paralyzed, right?” Kirk insists, nervous.

“Jim,” Leonard says, leaning over but probably not finding anywhere to touch Jim that isn’t covered in makeup or dirt or fake blood. “Your responses will be sluggish. It should be okay, though, because Rand knows not to keep the charade going too long. You should be back with us before you come out of it.”

Jim nods and says, "Okay."

Scotty comes skirting around a corner, moving faster than Jim has ever see him. "Imma late?" He waves something in Jim’s face. “I finished it!”

Jim tries to take the small little square box but Scotty pulls it out of his grasp, saying, “Be careful now, she’s charged!” Scotty demonstrates what he means by pressing a button on the side of the device. The sharp crackle of energy makes Jim—and several others—jump in place.

“Whoa,” Jim says, “is that a tazer?” He has never owned one before—or seen one that small.

McCoy snaps, “Jim is not gettin’ a tazer! He’ll kill himself with it!”

Scotty is too proud to pay attention to the ranting doctor. “It’s nae the real thing, Jim. I dinnae have all the parts to make a bigger one but she’ll work just fine—and she’s easy to hide ‘cause she’s itty-bitty!” He points out the little prongs at the end of the square that deliver the charge. “You just press the button and ZAP!”

Jim’s eyes lit up. “So this is like one of those electrical joke buzzers, when you shake hands and stuff and freak people out, only more dangerous!”

“Preee-cisely,” agrees Scotty. “She won’t knock a fella down but she’ll give ‘im pause if you need to get away!”

“You’re the best, Scotty,” Jim says sincerely.

Leonard sighs into his hand. He begs Jim, “Please don’t fry yourself.”

Jim promises to try his best to avoid self-injury. Leonard’s dubious look has a hint of loving exasperation in it.

Spock stands and announces, “Jim is prepared.”

~~~

The look on Rand’s face when he sees Jim is priceless. Kirk says humorlessly, “Yeah, this is what a hate crime looks like. Like what you see, Frank?”

Frank says haltingly, taken aback, “I’d never do that to you.”

He holds the man’s gaze. “I’m sure you’ve thought about it.”

Frank says nothing.

Rand left his police cruiser at the station and brought his personal SUV. When the back of the SUV is opened and Jim sees the tarp he’ll be hidden under—that is, the body of Jim Kirk—he almost wants to back out.

He is going to be riding in Frank Rand’s car like a dead body, so very much like a dead body because he’ll be out of it and Frank will be in total control of what happens next. Rand could take him out into the woods, shoot him through the head, bury his body, and no one would be the wiser.

Well, not _no one_.

Bones is threatening Frank is a low tone, “We’re trusting you with him, Rand, ‘n believe you me if Jim doesn’t turn up alive at the end of this, I will personally strap you to a table and watch Sulu carve you up like a chicken.”

“I won’t touch your queer,” Frank spits and it is not Leonard, surprisingly, who reacts so quickly but Spock.

Jim stares at Rand splayed out over the gravel of the driveway, hand to his jaw where he had been punched.

Spock says in a cold, cold voice, “That prejudice, Mr. Rand, is why you are in here. I suggest you consider a change of attitude in the near future.” What Spock doesn’t have to say is what will happen to Rand if he doesn’t. Spock looks at Jim. “You would have fought back. The bruise can be easily explained.” Then the lawyer pivots and stalks away.

Leonard says, when Jim hesitates between following Spock and staying because they are running out of time, “Let him be, Jim.”

Jim nods, knowing that Leonard knows how to handle Spock better than anyone. He sighs heavily, pulls back his shoulders, and says, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Kirk arranges himself in the back of the SUV, mindful of the image he needs to present and that nothing he does will ruin it. Lastly, he tucks the mini-tazer deep into one of his pockets and prays Trelane doesn’t have a fetish for body-searching a cadaver.

Bones kneels to his level and asks quietly, “Ready?”

He holds out one of his wrists. “Yeah. Bones, have I told you thanks?”

“Yes, kid, you have.”

“How about I love you?”

“Jim,” Leonard says in a strained voice, “you’ll have plenty of opportunities to say it later.”

He smiles. “Just in case. Love you.”

Leonard’s eyes are tear-bright as he injects the part sedative, part paralytic drug into Jim’s system. Not long after, Jim’s head feels heavy so he rolls it to the side and swallows. He tries to say to McCoy, maybe slightly drunk-sounding, “Tell Spock—after tha'punch—I could luv ‘im too.”

Someone (Bones? aw, Bones is going away now) strokes his hair and then the light goes out as a shroud falls over Jim. Then Jim is out too.

 

~~~

When Kirk comes to, his first instinctive thought is that something isn't right. The silence isn't right, nor is the fact that he cannot move his body. Because Jim is afraid, he keeps his eyes shut (isn't sure if he can open them anyway) and tries to think instead, which is difficult in itself.

It's possible he fades out.

His mind is less foggy when he becomes aware of his surroundings again; this time, there are muted voices in the distance that make him focus. Heated. Arguing? Why?

Jim's nose registers the pervading smell of plastic. His eyes definitely won't open. Something inside Jim warns him: _be quiet, be still, listen_.

He notices several consecutive thumps nearby, like when the branches of the old oak would knock against his bedroom window during in a storm. The fog fades even more. A word—" _...imbecile!_ "—is sharp and clear like a lightning bolt.

That voice. He has had nightmares about that voice.

At last, Jim remembers where he is: Rand's SUV. _Dead_ in Rand's car. He is suddenly grateful that he cannot move; otherwise he might have shifted the tarp and ruined the ploy. Jim strains now to listen for Trelane's voice; Rand's, too, since that must be who Trelane is yelling at.

A door slams but he cannot tell which side it is coming from or even feel the rocking of the vehicle. That last part disconcerts Kirk the most. Is this how it feels to be paralyzed? You know logically that something is happening, the world is moving, but you can't sense it well enough and you certainly can't move along with it?

Just play dead. Or, crap, go back to sleep or something.

But Jim can't. His mind is waking up at the very real knowledge of what is happening.

The voices of Trelane and Rand, which had faded around the side of the car earlier, circle back around to Jim's position. He hears snippets of conversation:

"—fuck you, Trelane, fuck you! You'll help me get rid of—"

"—are you certain he is—"

"—know how to kill a man."

" _Show me._ "

Jim tries to go to a happy place upon hearing the lock of the trunk click open. The hot air under the tarp disperses, and the barriers between Trelane and Jim are gone.

His eyes are shut, aren't they?

Jim prays his breathing isn't too obvious, though it feels like he isn't breathing at all.

"Hmm," says Trelane. "I can't see his face."

"It's not any prettier than the rest of him," Rand retorts but even Jim can pick out the nervous quality to his voice.

"Explain the part again," Trelane says curiously, "of why this 'old woman' wanted _you_ of all people to kill Kirk."

"She knows I think he is a scumbag of the earth, that's why," snaps the deputy.

"Is?"

"Was," corrects Rand flatly. "Look, this is your fucking problem now, Trelane. I won't go to jail for murder over this asshole. Some people desire to die and James Kirk was one of 'em."

"I see you don't feel remorse for your actions, Mr. Rand."

"Cut the crap, Trelane. I don't want to wake up in the morning because I'm being called to his crime scene. I know a place out by an old windmill. We'll bury him there. The only people who'll know he is will be us and the rats."

Trelane makes a noise of disgust. "I do not _dig_ , you ingrate."

Jim's foot is starting to tingle and his skin has an awful crawling sensation, like he's covered in ants. It takes all of Kirk's self control to remain quiet as a dead man should while the conversation continues above him.

He becomes aware of something else—a pressure against his ribs, then on his neck, his arm.

Trelane is talking. "How long has he been dead? Hmm."

"You're a sick fuck, you know that? Quit poking him with that fuckin' umbrella."

"I want to see his face."

Boots against gravel. The air changes, smells like sweat. Someone's breathing on him. Oh God, and digging their fingers into his face.

"Yes, thank you. That's quite enough."

Jim definitely feels it when his head is carelessly dropped back onto the floorboard of the SUV.

"—leave the body with me," Trelane is saying.

Rand snaps, "No fucking way! I don't trust you!"

"Mr. Rand," Trelane responds calmly, "you do not have a choice. You killed a man and you need my help."

A snarl. "Get out my way, Trelane. I'll take care of it myself!"

"No, I don't believe this is going to work at all."

Someone shouts, Jim tenses, and he hears Frank Rand yell, surprised, "What the fuck—what the fuck are you—!" The words die without warning.

Jim is already testing how far he can stretch his fingers, because _shit_ this is bad and he needs to get to his pocket!

The following silence is eerie. An unfamiliar deep voice asks, "What now, Sir?"

Trelane's voice sounds farther away. "Bring them both. Lady Q has given us the pieces to a puzzle. Now it is up to us to fit them together."

When a hand grabs Kirk's arm and drags him out of the SUV, Jim stays limp. And he doesn't dare open his eyes.

~~~

Jim is dumped on the floor like a sack of potatoes. A few minutes later, something heavy is dropped partially on top of him. A body. Rand? The person is alive, though, because he is breathing in little puffs of air against Jim's neck.

Jim thinks he can curl his toes inside his sneakers. The drug is wearing off.

For a while, he listens to scraping sounds and footsteps. At one point a cellphone rings and Jim hears Trelane say absently, "Hello, Marlena darling." A pause, then "Oh do stop blathering, I told you that Kirk woman is insane. No. No, of course not—" Trelane goes from calm to furious in a heartbeat. " _—keep your fucking mouth shut_ , you little bitch, or I'll have it shut for you, permanently." Calm again. "Now I really must go. Urgent business to handle, my dear."

Trelane sighs and snaps to whoever is with him, "How hard can it be to find something flammable, you nitwit! This is a fucking kitchen!"

"The stoves are not gas-lit, Sir," Trelane's lackey says, sounding confused.

"Must I do everything myself?!"

Rand groans softly. Jim digs his nails into the palm of the hand in sudden fear. _Shut up, Frank!_ he doesn't dare whisper.

Frank groans again, louder this time.

"How delightful. The deputy is awake. Do help him up."

Rand is hauled off of Jim.

Frank's voice is ragged. "What's going on? Trelane...?"

"It's rather simple, Mr. Rand. You kidnapped and tortured James Kirk, here in this very diner, abandoned by its workers as they searched for him—poetic, don't you think?—and somehow everything went terribly wrong and you both died."

"What?" Rand's voice has an edge of panic. "N-No one would believe that!"

"Given your blatant animosity towards Kirk? Didn't you assault him in public once? And, oh yes, there is the small fact that you caused Kirk's motorcycle accident—which can be proved, I assure you. I always have a fall-back plan, Mr. Rand—though in all honesty I did not think I would need to use it so soon!"

"Trelane, you can't do this. I have a family! I'm a fucking police officer!"

"All the more tragic." Trelane doesn't sound sad at all. "I fear this will ruin your reputation as an upstanding man—not that you ever were one."

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" Rand is screaming now. "I'LL KILL YOU, TRELANE!"

Trelane is amused. "Make the scuffle between Kirk and the deputy look authentic. I daresay one bruise is not going to be convincing. Now, if you all will excuse me." Jim listens to the fading _tap-tap-tap_ of Trelane's umbrella as Trelane walks away.

Rand's screams are cut off abruptly by the sound of fighting. Jim snaps open his eyes without another moment's thinking and forces his shaking hand into his pocket. He only needs a split second to see what is happening—who is standing where—and to get his fingers around that small tazer. Frank is on the floor, clutching his bleeding nose. When a hulking shadow of a man grabs the back of Rand's shirt to haul the man back into punching distance, Jim flops over onto his side and kicks out with his numb leg (sadly, an ineffectual action) at the man's ankle.

The bear-man stops what he is doing to stare down at Kirk in surprise. Jim croaks, "Hi there."

Frank uses the moment of distraction to break the hold on his shirt and send the other guy stumbling back. Jim is rather impressed when Frank lurches to his feet, takes hold of the nearest wooden chair and swings upon the guy's shoulders with a sickening _crack_. The chair breaks and the lackey goes down.

Jim's body aches like he's had the flu but he doesn't miss the opportunity to zap the man's out-flung wrist with his mini-tazer. The man spasms and stills.

Frank grabs Jim's arm in a bruising grip. "C'mon, get the fuck up!"

Jim's legs buckle as soon as he puts weight on them.

Rand curses soundly and hooks his arms under Jim's armpits and starts dragging Jim across the tiled floor of the diner.

"Gun," Jim says, as the idea pops into his head. "Frank, your gun!"

Frank stops dragging him. "Gun's in the car."

"Then go get it!" Jim snaps.

Rand hesitates, looking at the moaning man on the ground (who is definitely coming back to consciousness), and Jim insists, "Go!"

Rand leans Kirk against the diner counter and says shortly, "Don't move."

Ha ha. Like Jim is going anywhere when his legs are stumps of lead. He clutches the countertop for dear life and tries to keep himself upright.

No sooner than Frank Rand has pelted out of the side door of the diner than the kitchen door swings back with Trelane calling jovially, "How does our Mr. Rand fare?"

"Pretty good, actually." Jim hopes his mouth is stretched in his usual shit-eating grin. By Trelane's look, it's probably more of a rictus grin.

Trelane's face loses color for all of three seconds, then it comes back in a rush and turns the politician bright red. "Kirk!"

Kirk tries to pretend he is lounging like a lazy badass, never mind that his fingers will have to be pried from the counter. "Hello, Trelane. Want to hear about the afterlife?"

Trelane's umbrella comes up like a sword. "You were _dead_."

"Not so much," he admits. "You're just a sucker." And where the fuck is Frank? How long does it take to get a gun out of a glovebox?

Oh shit, has Frank left him behind?

Trelane stalks around the counter and stares at his drooling lackey on the floor. "I underestimated you, Kirk," he says in an odd voice. "Don't expect me to do so again!" And with those words, Trelane leaps forward and cracks his umbrella against Jim's fingers. Jim latches onto the umbrella as he pitches backwards and jerks Trelane off balance with him. Then it is a scramble for a weapon—shit, the tazer has skittered out of Jim's hand and under a table and it's dark and hard to see. Trelane tries to hit Jim with the umbrella again and the blow lands on Jim's legs. Funny but it doesn't hurt that much. Jim uses his adrenaline rush to knock a chair on top of Trelane, who fights with it for a moment while shrieking.

Jim sits up in time to see smoke billowing around the side of the counter. Somewhere beyond the smoke is a red, red fire casts an ominous glow across various shapes.

Jim's heart catches in his throat and when he finally removes it, a terrible rage comes boiling out of him. "What did you do!" He shouts, " _TRELANE!_ "

Suddenly it's easy to get to his feet and tackle Trelane who is scurrying away across the floor towards an exit.

Jim puts his hands around Trelane's neck and squeezes. Ignoring the acrid smoke stinging his eyes and rapidly filling up his lungs. The air temperature is now well past warm.

Bob's diner—his mother's diner— _Jim's diner_ —is dissolving around them.

Trelane chokes under his hard grip and claws at his hands. "K-Kirk, stop! STOP!" Trelane pleads.

Jim doesn't want to stop. The diner is on fire, like a symbol of everything Jim loves burning down to ash because of one man, _one fucking man_ , and if Trelane gets away, no one is safe.

"H-Help m-me!" Trelane cries. Jim has a split second to realize that Trelane isn't talking to him and that he had stupidly forgotten the other guy.

There is a whoosh of air and smoke, a roar (the fire? a man?), then an incredibly sharp pain in the back of his head. Jim blacks out.

~~~

_The guard at the gate to Trelane's home is missing. Another incompetent fool to fire. Trelane abandons his driver (idiot is still babbling about feeling funny form an electric shock) and enters his house through the garage. In the main hallway, Trelane is greeted by silence, a still darkness, and enough low lighting to see by. The man sheds his jacket and umbrella, tossing them on a sofa as he passes through the living room on the way to his study. Only when he flicks the light switch by the study door, and it doesn't work, does Trelane realize all is not as it seems._

_A voice comes out of the complete darkness of the room, freezing Trelane where he stands. The voice says, "Come in and close the door, Mr. Trelane."_

_The skittering up Trelane's spine alerts him to the new presence somewhere behind him in the hall, waiting for him to choose the wrong action and try to bolt._

_Trelane steps fully into the study and closes the door. There is a gentle click and the lamp on the edge of his desk comes on, revealing an unfamiliar man—an older man—sitting in Trelane's executive leather chair like he belongs there._

_"What is the meaning of this... _invasion_ of my home!" Trelane demands as bravely as he dares. "I shall call the police!"_

_The man steeples his fingers and rests them against his chin. For a long moment of silence, dark eyes contemplate Trelane. At last Trelane is told, rather mildly, "Please desist your histrionics. Should you attempt to leave this estate before the allotted time, you will be captured and carried to another... less pleasant environment and our discussion shall resume there. I must also explain, so that you are aware of your circumstances, moving forward there will be no outside communication by you—or any of your men. No one knows what is happening at this moment, Mr. Trelane, except you and I, and no one ever shall."_

_Trelane had broken into a sweat as soon as his unknown assailant began talking. Now he has to steady himself on a chair to stay upright. "I don't understand. Who are you?" he asks weakly._

_"Who I am is irrelevant. You may wish to consider the question: what is my purpose?_

_The man rises gracefully from the chair and walks around the desk to Trelane. When he stops, he plants his feet shoulder-width apart, back absolutely straight and hands clasped behind him. It speaks vaguely of an odd combination between the breeding of nobility and militaristic training._

_Trelane sinks into the chair he is gripping. "What do you w-want?" The stutter slips from him before he can stop it._

_"You committed acts of maliciousness against the innocent people of this town, Mr. Trelane." There is a pause. "Rarely do I interfere with individuals not under my jurisdiction; however, I find myself inadvertently involved on a personal level—and in a position to provide an expedient resolution to the problem you pose." That last bit is added in a lower, softer cadence._

_Trelane shivers. "I have no idea what you are alluding to, sir. I've done nothing, and you are trespassing on my property."_

_The man shifts his stance slightly, and the light from the lamp casts an eerie, somewhat devilish glow across the stranger's face. "I have not the time to list your crimes, as I have an engagement of greater importance to attend in a matter of minutes. We will speak on the subject at a later date, if you are inclined to plead your case." His tone indicates that any plea Trelane could think up would be a pointless venture._

_Trelane thumps his fist on the arm of his chair, incensed and frightened. "Get out of my house!"_

_The door to the study opens and dark shadows file into the room. Trelane scrambles out of his chair and against the edge of his desk. There's a small handgun locked in the bottom drawer of the desk. If he can..._

_The stranger casually removes Trelane's pistol from an inside jacket pocket. He tells Trelane, "I have also taken the liberty of removing the journals from your personal safe, Mr. Trelane. They will be returned to their proper owner." The man says to the men circling him, "Please escort our guest to his next destination." Then he turns and walks to the door._

_Trelane cries out, as the shadows form into men wearing black outfits and ski masks to protect their identities, "What is this! You can't hurt me!" Someone pins his right arm and injects him with something before he can react. "Where are you taking me!" He struggles as his mouth is gagged, heart beating wildly._

_The stranger pauses in the doorway and says without a hint of compassion, "No one will harm you, Mr. Trelane. You will be rehabilitated, shall we say, in a place where you can do no harm to yourself or others."_

_Trelane screams until the sedative takes effect and he passes out, barely registering that he is being dragged across the floor and out the back of his home. He dreams he is strapped on a gurney while everything shakes and rattles beneath him and there is a smell of ozone (a plane?); later his dream takes the shape of a light in his eyes, only to focus into a man patting his cheek and laughing, then the man turns away to accept several stacks of foreign-marked bills from someone._

_When Trelane finally breaks free of the fog enveloping him, he finds himself in no familiar place (a hospital? no, too poorly kept and there are people yelling in the background, how awful!) and surrounded by darkly tanned faces of people who speak broken English. They try to convey, "Do not feel upset, Mr. Trelane—you safe—good place to cure mind, best in all Indonesia!"_

_Trelane protests his surroundings loudly. Someone else enters the room, a man in a dirty lab coat. The man watches him squirm with interest._

_"Nurse, another sedative," says the British-accented doctor. "I fear this one's dementia shall attempt to surface periodically. We must be diligent with his care. I am told he is a special patient."_

_Hands reach out and tighten the straps binding Trelane, and Trelane panics. He cries in a disoriented slur, "Let me go! I am the Q! THE Q!" until tears are leaking out of his eyes._

_An orderly snickers at a nurse. "Q? Meebe this'un think he space man!"_

_The nurse merely shakes her head in a gesture of pity and presents a long, gleaming needle. Trelane's protests, upon seeing it, are reduced to screams._


	27. Part Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicized passages are scenes out of sequence.

_The mortician meets two men in the hallway bordering the hospital morgue. He first blinks at the tall, impeccably dressed man and then addresses the other man with the badge and Stetson hat. “You can have ‘im back now, Sheriff.”_

_“Our thanks,” replies Komack. “Mr. Spock?”_

_Mr. Spock is still observing the mortician. “Did he say anything of use?”_

_The small man with glasses shakes his head. “Not really but it’s all on here, I reckon.” He taps the front of his shirt, indicating the wire beneath._

_Komack grimaces. “It’ll be about as useful as Rand’s was, I suspect.”_

_“Deputy Rand's wire lead us to their rescue,” the lawyer reminds Komack quietly. Spock turns away. “I will collect Jim now. We appreciate your assistance, sir.”_

_“Glad to be of help. I’ve been following the campaigns. Never liked the look of that Trelane fellow.”_

_Whether or not the lawyer catches this statement, Komack and the mortician may never know. Komack nods one last time, silent, and trails after Mr. Spock to retrieve Jim Kirk._

~~~

_“...rest. I will stay.”_

_“—can’t, Spock, not until—Jim?”_

He didn’t mean to twitch his hand but the warmth around it had moved away.

_“—Jim? C’mon, Jim, time to open those baby blues, kid.”_

Despite the gentle coaxing of the voice, Jim really doesn’t want to open his eyes. He is comfortable and very tired. His hand grows warm again as it is picked up and his knuckles are stroked. Jim sighs almost inaudibly, just a tiny extra puff of air through his nose.

The breath coming out of his lungs makes a faint whistling noise and, crap, it _hurts_. Breathing isn’t supposed to hurt.

Someone is impatient and says his name more sharply. Jim drags his eyes open, moans at the bright light, and shuts them again.

_“Spock, can you get the curtains?”_

The light behind his eyelids dims and Jim cautiously opens his eyes again. This time he is able to focus. The vision in front of him immediately forms into a familiar face. It says, relieved, “Jim. Damn it, Jim, it’s about time.”

Oh. “Bones?”

“Yeah. ‘N Spock.”

Jim takes a second or two to comprehend that. “Where?” he asks, frowning at how hard it is to talk. His throat aches. The taste in his mouth is awful, like stale cigarettes.

Bones brushes a thumb lightly across his jaw. “You’re in the hospital, Jim. Just be still for a minute, okay? Still and calm, just like you are.”

Hospital? Last time he was in the hospital, he was with Bones and his mom visiting Wesley. Just visiting.

Mom.

He must have said that out loud because Bones assures him, “She’s here. You know that coffee machine on the third floor? I think she’s havin' a fight with it.”

Jim does remember that machine. He pictures his mother as her patented no-nonsense stare devolves into cussing and chuckles.

The chuckle turns into a nasty, rattling cough. Leonard tugs him upright and rubs his back, saying, “Easy, easy, breathe, Jim” until the ripped feeling in his lungs subsides. The small bed Kirk is in dips on the other side and Spock holds out a plastic cup with straw. Jim can’t take the cup himself because Bones has his arms pinned, and so Jim tries not to feel embarrassed because he is essentially an invalid.

In fact, once he has had a few sips of water, Jim says defiantly, “Not an invalid.”

Bones is still rubbing circles on Kirk’s back and it’s not fair how drowsy that makes Jim. “'Course you aren’t, kid,” the doctor says softly. “But a hospital is for helpin’ people and right now that’s what you need. Spock and I are glad to help you.” McCoy’s voice gains a funny hitch when he adds, “We’re lucky, so damned lucky that you’re with us, Jim.”

“Goin’ nowhere,” Jim mumbles.

A nose buries in the short hairs along the back of his neck as Bones hugs him from behind. Jim turns his head and catches a flash of Spock’s pained eyes before Spock tamps down on whatever he is feeling. Jim tries to ask, rather dumbly, “Are you okay?” It comes out as a raw whisper.

Spock draws away, though his answer is succinct and unperturbed. “You are alive,” the lawyer says. “That is all I require to be well.”

 _Liar,_ Jim thinks.

There is no time to prod further (not that Jim has the emotional energy to do so) because Winona Kirk enters the hospital room, sees her son sitting up, and drops her cup of coffee. Her “Jimmy!” is joyful.

Bones slides off the bed to make room for Winona, and Jim feels the loss immediately. Then Jim is enveloped in his mother’s arms and the sense of loss is overridden by a gentle rocking motion and the tears on his mother's face as she tells him repeatedly how much he scared her (not to do it again) and how much she loves him (“so much, Jimmy, I love you so much”).

His weariness punches into him like a mean right hook. It’s Winona and an unfamiliar nurse who help him settle on his back and tell him to go to sleep. Bones and Spock are gone.

~~~

Mayor Wesley is in Jim's room the second time he wakes up, talking quietly with Winona. Jim sighs and calls, "Mom?"

She helps him drink some ice water then frowns at the empty ice bucket and tells the two men that she will be right back. Bob waits until Winona is out of earshot before he moves his wheelchair closer to Jim's bed.

Jim just stares at him blankly. "Hey, Bob."

Wesley's smile is genuine but sad. "It's a shame to see you in here, son. I may be a lonely old man but I didn't need company that bad," he jokes half-heartedly.

Jim is silent for a moment, sorting through vague memories of Trelane and fire and an elusive rage.

Bob takes his hand and squeezes it. "Jim?"

"Imma 'kay." Jim looks at the I.V. in his left arm. How mad would his mother be if he took it out? Considering a particular past experience, she'd be livid.

Bob's worried look increases. "Jim, I had—I had a talk with Komack earlier, when you were brought in. He told me." A low mutter and heavy sigh. "I don't— _Jesus_ , I'm sorry, Jim. I am."

Jim observes Bob's guilty expression. He swallows, wishing the pain in his throat would abate, and asks slowly, "Did you put me in here, Bob?"

"I'm the reason—"

"Did you put me in here?" Kirk asks again.

"No," Wesley says, still guilt-stricken.

Jim closes his eyes. His mother will knock some sense into Bob once she figures out that he is blaming himself for Trelane's plotting. She might even try to 'knock some sense into him' literally.

Winona returns. Jim wants to know, "Where's Bones and Spock?"

She strokes his arm. "I don't know, baby."

He sleeps again, dreaming of a soft Southern-drawled "I'm sorry, Jim." When Kirk wakes up next, it is to the faint smell of a familiar aftershave and, strangely, to his leather jacket hanging over the back of a visitor's chair.

~~~

_Christine jams her hands into the pockets of her coat and stares across the empty parking lot. "I called a friend who works reception at Derby Hospital. They're already under strict orders by Komack not to release any information about Jim." She glances at her colleague and friend. "Someone has called once or twice, making inquiries. No identification. It could have been Trelane."_

_"Fuck," McCoy says sincerely. "I hate that bastard."_

_"Leonard, what can we do? From what you told me, this won't end until Trelane is satisfied that Jim is dead." Her voice catches and she sucks in a breath, wishing for a brief instant that she had not given up smoking after Roger Korby dumped her._

_Leonard looks at her for a long moment. She shivers at the bleakness in his eyes._

_At last the man says, "Then maybe Jim ought to be dead."_

_Chapel starts. "You can't mean that!"_

_They are leaning against her car outside of the Riverside Clinic. Leonard McCoy frowns down at a wet puddle on the pavement left over from this morning's rain shower._

_"It didn't work before," the doctor tells her, "but that might be because Trelane had just Rand's word to go on and I bet Trelane only trusts what he sees happening right in front of him. He has to suspect that Jim died in that fire. So we need to confirm it, Christine."_

_"You're crazy," she tells him._

_His sigh is quiet. "I'm desperate. Sometimes crazy and desperate are the same thing."_

_She turns around and unlocks her car door. "Get in, Dr. McCoy. I'll take you back to Derby."_

_Leonard thanks her but there really is no need for the words. She can see gratitude written in every line of his body._

_If only Roger had loved her the way Leonard loves Jim, she thinks. If only._

~~~

Jim is tired of listening to the fierce argument in the hallway. He grimaces and jerks back the covers of his hospital bed. When Spock tries to tuck him back in, he snaps, "No!" Then, on the heels of his outburst, "I'm sorry, Spock. Help me up?"

Without a word, Spock complies. Together they shuffle to the open door of his room. Jim holds onto Spock with one hand and his I.V. stand with the other. He valiantly ignores the fact that he can feel a breeze through the loosely-tied back of his gown.

Once able to peek around the corner of the doorway, Jim calls, "Mom! Bones!"

Immediately the pair hurries toward him, all yelling forgotten.

Jim doesn't bother to answer their worried questions or Bones' blatant appall at a patient sneaking out of bed. Kirk goes straight to the heart of the matter. "I want to do it," he announces.

Winona pales, probably from fear and fury alike.

"Are you sure?" Leonard asks, brows drawn together.

Jim's mother intervenes. "No! Not _ever_ again, Jimmy!"

"I'm not a child, Mom," he says, resigned to hurting her feelings. "You taught me to weigh the odds fairly, and I have. I _can_ do this. It'll be easy." After a pause, he adds, "I'll just lie there."

"Like you did last time?" Winona says, and Jim flinches. "You almost died!" She plants a trembling hand against her mouth for a second before continuing. "You _would_ have died if Frank hadn't pulled you out."

A fact that simultaneously surprises Jim and burns his gut. At least Rand hadn't bailed on him completely. Later, Jim was told, the police discovered the gun Rand couldn't find in some bushes along the highway. If Rand had spent another couple of minutes looking for a weapon, the diner would have been too far gone for him to get to Jim. Jim supposes it takes heroic effort to run into a burning building. That fact still didn't stop Rand's wife from kicking her husband out of the house when he confessed his sins—or Rand's daughter Janice from siding with her mother.

Jim feels slightly bad for the rift between the Rand family, even though he knows it isn't his doing.

McCoy flicks a sad look at Winona before turning away from everyone. "I'll tell Komack you agreed, Jim. Sorry, Winona." Leonard heads over to the nurses' station to use a telephone.

Winona sits down on one of the chairs lining the hallway and hugs herself. Jim is grateful for Spock's support because he needs every ounce of it as he moves back towards the bed.

He doesn't realize that he is close to crying until one of Spock's long fingers catches a tear quivering on the edge of an eyelash. Spock says his name so quietly, so full of sorrow, that Jim leans his head against Spock's side and confesses his fear: "Trelane won." _The diner is gone. No Trelane behind bars._

"He won't stay in Riverside," replies the lawyer as he delicately cups the back of Jim's neck.

Yet that knowledge is no comfort to Jim at all.

~~~

The metal gurney is cold against Jim's bare skin. This time, as he is blackened with soot, Jim feels no nervousness or strange hilarity at the situation. Though Bones is gentle with his ministrations and talks quietly throughout the process, the chill of the morgue—and the representation of what it means—leeches away anything colorful or potent.

Bones leans over to kiss Jim once, softly, then pulls the sheet over Kirk's head. Jim keeps his eyes open. He stares at the muted, almost red glow of a light somewhere overhead and thinks he can hear the echo of fire crackling.

They failed to capture Trelane and this... this is just minimizing the collateral damage. Nothing can bring back what his family has already lost.

Bob hasn't once mentioned The Diner. If Wesley feels guilty for Jim's injuries, Jim feels guilty for the destruction of a long-standing legacy and haven. Maybe they understand each other better than they realize.

He waits, listening for the cue to play dead. Again.

~~~

_Spock halts some feet in front of the shrouded figure in the morgue and has to remind himself that Jim is alive under the white sheet. It's an act. Yet he can easily imagine the opposite: that this is the body of a man he has grown to respect, to like, to feel love for; this is a prelude to an autopsy, to a funeral, and a burial._

_The first person Spock lost on a personal level in his life was Leonard McCoy when the two friends parted ways to pursue their careers. Spock had felt something akin to grief during that time but assuaged his emotional turmoil with the knowledge that Leonard was well and undoubtedly happy—would lead a satisfying life, whether or not Spock was a part of it._

_Years later, he regained and lost Leonard again in a matter of months. Spock—stubborn beyond compare, his mother often says—refused to accept their end. _Spock refused.__

_Now he fears._

_Jim is breathing. Jim will recover physically. But there remains something intrinsically wrong with Kirk that Spock cannot quite pinpoint. Is it Trelane's escape from justice? Spock does not know. But he fears that, if the root of Jim's unhappiness is not corrected, he shall lose Jim. He and Leonard—they shall both lose Jim._

_That is not a grief Spock wants to experience so soon._

_The man calls softly, "Jim, it's safe." After a moment, the sheet rustles. Kirk sits up, somewhat slumped, and gives Spock a poor imitation of his usual blinding grin. Then Kirk sucks in a deep breath and pays for it by coughing up lungs damaged by an overdose of inhaled smoke._

_Spock tries to soothe Jim's fit but knows that he cannot help as well as Leonard could. He offers, "I will bring Dr. McCoy."_

_Jim, gripping the edge of the gurney as he wheezes, only says, "Where are my clothes?"_

_Spock turns his back while Jim dresses, hating this feeling of helplessness. There isn't much he can do; legally, he could tie Trelane up for years but the resolution would not be swift. There must be a swift—_ and irrevocable _—resolution._

_Asking Komack to escort Jim upstairs to where McCoy and a group of nurses are patiently waiting to put Kirk back to bed, Spock takes another route through the hospital and outside to a pay phone along the edge of the medical campus._

_Then he calls his father._


	28. Part Twenty-Eight

It's amazing that when Jim is unable to go to the gossip, so to speak, the gossip comes to him.

_"He doesn't need to hear that, Spock, not now."_

_"I beg to differ, Leonard. Jim will be upset if he finds out later."_

_"Goddamn it, he's stressed! Can't you see that?"_

_A short silence. "Yes, Dr. McCoy. Yet the fact remains that he must know."_

Jim sighs and sits up. "Spock?" he says, raising his voice.

Spock appears in the doorway, Bones silhouetted behind him. "Yes, Jim?"

"Just tell me."

McCoy pushes into the room. "Go back to sleep, kid."

"Bones," he asks, and why does his voice sound so weary? "What's going on?"

Spock answers before Leonard can deny anything. "The young man Pavel Chekov and his sister are in danger of deportation."

Jim starts, then has to take a long minute to control his coughing fit. "What the fuck, Bones?" he demands. "You can't _not_ tell me this!"

"You're sick, Jim, and there's nothing you can do to help Pavel or Sasha!"

"Please," interjects the lawyer, "do not argue. These are merely the facts, as Leonard states, Jim. A hired detective has recently begun investigating the whereabouts of the Chekovs at the behest of concerned family members in Russia."

Jim recalls Pavel's evident fear. He says, "Pavel's grown but Sasha is too young to be without a guardian."

Spock nods. "I inquired into the matter with Pavel, and he explained that Sasha was living with their childless aunt and uncle and she was... not treated well. When he turned eighteen, he offered to care for Sasha but the offer was refused. They ran."

"Sulu's keeping 'em out of sight," Leonard adds.

"Fuck," Jim says, forgetting that his lungs are on fire. "Can't somebody tell the detective to take a hike? That they're gone?"

McCoy has resigned himself to the conversation apparently. "Pavel's family was tipped off they were here. They won't leave well enough alone."

"By Trelane," Jim supplies with a burst of anger. "Always fuckin' Trelane!"

"Jim, calm down. You're wheezing."

Jim fights to get himself under control. "What can I do to help?" he half-begs.

"Not a damn thing," Leonard says, overriding Spock. "Spock's already said that he'll take care of it."

Jim looks at Spock. "Tell me."

"The case can be argued that Pavel is a citizen of the United States, given that he was born in this country and spent a number of years in the U.S. before returning to Russia. Russia allows for a dual citizenship so, fortunately, we will not be contested in that regard. Then Pavel must become a legal representative for Sasha, until the time that he is 21 and may apply for a Green Card on her behalf."

Jim trusts that Spock knows what he is talking about. "How could it go wrong?"

"If the Chekovs in Russia claim that Sasha was kidnapped and press the Embassy for her return and Pavel's extradition."

Jim rubs a hand along his forehead. Bones asks, "Headache?" Jim nods.

When the doctor slips away to fetch some aspirin, Jim levels a stare at Spock. "Can you get a letter to Lady Q?"

Spock hesitates. "Jim, is that a wise course of action?"

"Probably not, but she owes me," he remarks flatly. "And somebody has to protect Pavel and Sasha."

A day and a half later Spock returns with the news that the detective has suddenly given up his pursuit of the missing Chekovs. Jim licks his lips and wants to know, "She agreed, then?"

Spock has that not-smile. "She reminded me that you vouched for Pavel Chekov and that his importance—and thereby his sister's—to your person translated to an importance to her person. Lady Q also expressed a desire to 'deprive ailing Russian monarchs of their offspring' and was pleased to persuade Mr. and Mrs. Ivan Chekov to dismiss the existence of their niece and nephew... monetarily speaking."

Jim sinks into his hospital bed and groans. "She owns my soul now, doesn't she, Spock?"

"I suspect she will preserve it along with her other artifacts, Jim."

Jim's middle finger is succinct. Spock's mouth twitches in amusement.

 _One less problem_ , Jim thinks. He shifts restlessly. Now if only he could get out of the hospital a day early. Spock, the cruel bastard, refuses to upset Leonard's precarious mental state—meaning he doesn't want to be pinned to a wall and threatened should Bones discover the man's involvement. Well, he supposes, at least they both have a healthy respect for—and fear of—Dr. Leonard H. McCoy.

~~~

Bored to tears, Jim peeks open his eyes, sees the ramrod-straight back of a man facing the posted nursing chart on the wall opposite Kirk’s hospital bed, and begins to say, “Spock, can you—?”

The man who turns around is not Spock.

Jim flushes. “S-Sarek.”

Sarek walks over to a visitor’s chair and sits down, never taking his eyes off Jim. “Good evening, Mr. Kirk. I trust that your condition shows steady improvement.” The man’s tone implies that he already knows the answer to that question.

Nevertheless, Jim nods. “I’m good.” He isn’t as tired as he was a couple of days ago, but Jim finds that he has less patience for idle chat after being cramped in this room for four days. Kirk sighs. “Are you here with Spock?”

“I am not.” Pausing, Sarek turns his head to watch two nurses pass by the open door to Jim’s room. When they are gone, he continues. “I am completing a... necessary list of errands.”

And visiting Jim’s bedside is an errand? How pleasant. “Thanks,” he says sarcastically.

Sarek lifts an eyebrow. “You misconstrue my meaning, Mr. Kirk. While I admit to a dual purpose in seeking out your presence, a large portion of that purpose is to determine how you fare.”

“Why?” Jim asks bluntly.

Sarek remains utterly still in his chair. “Your well-being matters to my son; hence, your well-being matters to me.”

Well, Jim can’t blame the guy for his honesty. He says, “Spock knows I am okay.”

Again, that strange moment of silence drifts between them. Sarek is measuring something, perhaps how much information he wishes to share with Jim. Not that Jim cares, of course.

Abruptly Sarek speaks. “Spock rarely asks for my aid. He prides himself on his independence, on his ability to handle any particular challenge which should arise. Therefore, when my son does break this one rule of his, when he does seek my support or my expertise, I know that it is a matter of true urgency and concern which prompts such an action.” Jim swallows under Sarek’s steady stare. Sarek finishes gravely, “I cannot deny that it unsettles me.”

Now Jim is unsettled too and harboring more than a small amount of nervousness. “Why are you telling me this?” he questions.

If anything, Sarek is a straightforward man. “Spock explained the nature of your tete-a-tete with Trelane.”

Only an outsider would describe those brutal encounters as mildly as Sarek does. Jim feels cold, whispers, “Why would he do that?”

“Spock wishes to see justice served to a man that cannot be touched by any system of law. I have the capacity to see that it is so.”

For a full thirty seconds, Jim has no words for Sarek. Finally he manages, “Trelane?”

Sarek unfolds his hands from his lap and stands. The man approaches the bed and withdraws an object from his coat pocket. He holds it out to Kirk, saying nothing.

Jim stares at the lock of blond hair shimmering in the overhead light. Feeling a sense of surrealism, he tentatively takes the lock of hair between forefinger and thumb.

“I said I had a dual purpose in meeting with you, Mr. Kirk,” Sarek reminds him softly. “This was found in Trelane’s personal safe, along with other articles of interest. A man who wishes to retain keepsake of his victim undoubtedly has a troubled mind. Let me be the first to assure you, Mr. Kirk, that the individual known as Trelane is no longer of concern to any man.”

Jim drops his hand—and his lock of hair clenched in his fist—to his bedspread. “You killed him,” he says tonelessly, his emotions too mixed up to sort.

Sarek tilts his head, looking for a moment so much like Spock that Jim can easily picture Spock aging into a replica of his father. “I do not advocate the taking of life, Jim—" Jim is surprised to hear his first name. “—but I do know how to subdue it when necessary.”

And that, Jim realizes, is as close as a confession he will ever hear from Sarek. Trelane could be ‘detained’ or imprisoned or generally suffering for his crimes in Riverside; Jim has to trust that it is so.

Kirk relaxes back into his pillows. “Thank you,” he says with sincerity. If Kirk admits it, he may feel slightly dizzy with relief.

Sarek asks, voice gentle, “What request were you going to make of Spock when you first awoke?”

Jim gestures at the light switch. “Could you turn one of them off? It’s hard to sleep in a blinding white light.”

Sarek nods, moving toward the door, only to encounter his son entering the room. Spock stops at the sight of Sarek and queries, “Father?”

Sarek greets Spock.

Spock’s gaze skips over to Jim. “Are you well?”

Jim rubs his thumb against Sarek’s unexpected gift and smiles. “Better. It’s late, Spock. Why are you here?”

Spock lifts both of his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Did I not promise to return with a suitable substitute for cafeteria jello, Jim?”

Kirk sits up and looks eagerly at the plastic bag in Spock's hand. _Please, please, let there be a candy bar in that bag,_ he wishes. Jim glances around, trying to remember if Bones or his mother might be around. He catches Sarek's eyes. “I thought you meant in the morning,” mumbles Jim, suddenly acutely aware that Sarek is listening to their conversation. Hopefully Sarek doesn’t read subtext.

Sarek clears his throat. “I must return to my wife. Spock, should I anticipate that you will remain in Derby?”

Spock nods. “Jim will be released in another twenty-four hours.”

“Ah,” murmurs Sarek. Then, almost too casually to his son, “I completed the task as requested.”

Spock stiffens and asks softly, “Did you?”

Jim looks from Spock’s sharp eyes to Sarek’s and is fervently glad he is not the recipient of their combined ire—well, not in the sense that Trelane now is.

Sarek replies in a deceptively mild voice, “Upon one of my errands—the return of a particular set of journals—"

Jim perks up at this. So Trelane did have Lord Q’s missing journals!

“—I was given a gift of gratitude.” Sarek pauses. “Specifically for my son, Mr. Spock.”

Spock unclasps his hands and drops them to his sides, the only indication of his bewilderment at this announcement. “I do not understand.”

Sarek turns away so that Jim only sees the line of those perfectly straight shoulders. Maybe Sarek doesn’t want anyone to see the mirth in his eyes? Because that mirth is a clear undertone in the man's next statement: “Your mother is caring for your gift. Felines, I am told, require saucers of milk and ample objects to retain their attention when they are of a young age.”

Jim’s eyes widen and he wiggles in his bed, blurting out, “Bo Peep! Aw, Spock, Lady Q gave you Bo Peep!” He barely stops himself from making a ridiculous fake _meow_ and effectively reducing Sarek's opinion of him.

From Jim’s angle, Spock could be blushing. Whether or not the man is, Sarek must decide to allow his son a margin of dignity and says in parting, “Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen." The man disappears around the corner of the door.

Jim waits an entire minute before teasing Spock, suddenly no longer tired at all. And Spock had, in fact, brought him a Hershey's chocolate bar. They share it.

~~~

Jim finds out on the day he is released from the Derby hospital that Scotty has been staying with the Q—and apparently loving it.

"I think she's a mite touched," says Montgomery Scott about Lady Q, "but the campus has got three— _three!_ —libraries and a man—I mean a Q—who used to work for NASA. He knows all sorts of interestin' stuff, Jim!"

Jim sees the flushed pleasure in Scotty's face and his spirits lift in response. "Are you living there now?"

Bones, Spock, Jim, and their escort Mr. Scott (courtesy of Lady Q) are comfortably situated in a wide limo and headed back to Riverside. Jim bets that he is the only patient to check-out of Derby Hospital in such fanfare. The security guards had boggled at an expressionless driver, an effervescent Scotty, and a sleek limousine loitering at the entrance to whisk Mr. Kirk and his family away. (Winona is already at Jim's apartment 'tidying up' for his return. Jim is grateful, because she would have asked too many questions he couldn't answer.)

Scotty shakes his head in the negative. "I promised to stay the summer 'n do some assistant research with the, um, NASA Q. After, I'm startin' upstate at Uni." The man reaches forward and touches Jim's hand. "Thank ye, Jim. Mr. Spock told me the scholarship board agreed to allot me the funding I was promised."

"Hey," Jim says, "it's only fair. That money was always yours." Then, more gently, "Your mom?"

"She's all right," he says. "She said I shouldna stayed in the first place on account o' her but what's done is done. Yer mother said that. I don't... wanna leave her but I don't wanna give up a second chance, either."

Next to Jim, Bones says, "Good for you, Scotty."

Bones' arm is heavy across his shoulders, and Jim leans into the man's side, continuing to listen to Scotty talk, letting the sound of someone's happiness remind him of why he shouldn't stay miserable.

~~~

The next day Kirk asks them to bring him here because Jim needs to see the extent of the damage. Spock offers to drive Jim's truck. They are a mile away when Jim catches the lingering scent of smoke in the air. He does not break his silence, not when the truck passes familiar landmarks only to pull into a parking lot—and a gaping space where The Diner used to be.

Jim eases out of the cab of the truck, unsurprised that Bones seems to be joined at his hip. Jim keeps his silence, rooted to the spot; and he keeps his silence once finally moving again and as he trails along the yellow caution tape cordoning off the wreckage. Bones's face is heavy with a grief Jim finds he can't openly express. He nods absently at McCoy's quiet "I'm sorry."

Kirk vaguely registers the sound of car doors slamming and new voices until someone calls out, "Jim!" It's Uhura, with Gaila behind her and Sulu still standing awkwardly by his car and a silent Pavel.

Nyota's voice breaks as she says, "Oh, Jim."

One second they are far apart; the next second, they are in each other's arms, taking comfort in an old friendship and a complete understanding of what they've really lost. Jim brushes away Uhura's tears with his thumbs and tells her, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's my fault. Oh God, Uhura, I am so sorry."

It hits him hard that she's lost her job because of him. So has Sulu and Pavel.

She stops sniffling into his shoulder and tries to punch his arm, which doesn't have much force behind it since they are practically chest to chest. Nyota's wet glare is pissed when she pulls back.

"You'd better shut up, Kirk," she tells him harshly. "I don't ever want to hear you say it's your fault again. _Ever._ "

Easier said than done.

She sniffs one last time into a handkerchief Bones had produced out of thin air. "We're all hurting," says Uhura, "but I think any one of us would agree that if it came down to the diner or your life, we'd have set a match to the place ourselves."

The look in her eyes dares him to say she is wrong. Kirk's gaze moves past her to Gaila, who has her arms crossed over her chest and a hard expression, and then to Pavel and Sulu, who nods silently in support of Uhura's statement.

Jim releases the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Okay," he says, even though the word hurts. Jim scrubs a hand over his face. "I guess there's no point in hangin' out here. Food?" he asks plaintively, hoping to take his mind away from the nightmare of Trelane that keeps surfacing, especially now that he can match the sight of the damaged diner with the smell and sound of it burning in his mind.

But Uhura vetoes that idea. "Your mom's on her way. We have to wait for her."

"What? Why?" he asks sharply.

Nyota's mouth pulls into a semblance of a smile. "To meet for dinner. I get the feeling she wants to talk to us about something."

Jim's stomach does a sudden flip but he ignores it. "Why don't you meet at a restaurant?"

Gaila's laughter is a sound Jim misses on occasion. The red-haired woman cocks a hip. "Jimmy baby, we're here because you're here. The plan was to convene at your place but since you weren't around..." She shrugs one shoulder. "It's a good thing Nyota has an innate Kirk Radar. And Pavel spotted that ugly truck."

Jim feels indignant on Jose's behalf. "It's serviceable."

"Exactly what I've said about a good share of men," Gaila stage-whispers to Uhura.

Jim scratches the back of his head. "I think I'm offended."

Bones mumbles something under his breath.

The two females of the group smirk. One of them says, " _Men_ " like that one word explains everything. Kirk may or may not subconsciously sidle closer to Spock.

Gaila digs in her purse, pulls out a nail file, and begins to buff her long nails. Uhura asks if she has an extra file. Once the women are occupied elsewhere, Jim sags a little (proverbially, of course, so as not to display weakness) and faces Bones and Spock.

He does a double take at the uncertainty on McCoy's face. "What is it, Bones?"

Leonard lowers his voice. "I don't think I ought to come along to this dinner, Jim."

Jim frowns. "You're with me and Mom likes you. Of course you're coming along."

"No," argues McCoy gently. "I wouldn't say I'm your mama's favorite person right now."

There are plenty of ways he can answer that; Jim chooses the most important. "It doesn't matter, Bones. You're one of _my_ favorite people." Then he adds, because he believes it to be the truth, "Besides, if Mom isn't already over it, she'll forgive you soon enough."

"For you," Leonard clarifies.

"For me," Jim agrees. "And possibly because it's your official duty to keep me alive and kicking." He makes sure to grin obnoxiously to punctuate his statement.

"Don't remind me," mutters the doctor.

"Jim," interrupts Spock, who had thus far been a silent participant in their exchange, "your mother has arrived."

Much like Jim, Winona exits her truck in a state of silent reflection, but she acknowledges Jim with a small smile as she approaches. Her eyes track past them all to the diner.

The building is a disaster: charred beams, melted plastic, and the sight of decades worth of memories burnt to ash. Jim slips up to his mother's side and loops his arm around her shoulders and they look at the ruins together. He spies the shell that had been the kitchen and thinks of all the hours he had spent there as a kid, entertaining himself or doing homework, then later as a teenager, sneaking a girlfriend into the supply closet for a makeout session and getting caught by one very agitated and mildly amused Gary Mitchell.

The Diner has been as much of a home to Jim as the farm he lived on. In a way, he did more growing up in the atmosphere of the diner, surrounded by family and friends, than anywhere else on Earth.

He can't imagine not being able to stop by for a quick chat with Sulu or a friendly argument with Uhura. He can't imagine not looking at one particular booth and recalling the moment a man—a stranger in brown—met Jim Kirk's eyes with a look of such heartbreak, devastation, and _need_ that Jim's life changed course in an instant.

Winona leans into her son, saying sadly, "What do we do now, Jimmy?"

He doesn't take a deep breath as he might otherwise have because his lungs are still shaky (but healing) and instead makes a soft sigh. Jim glances over his shoulder. Bones and Spock are lingering some feet away, under a silly impression that the Kirks need space to mourn a loss. Admittedly, though, that might not be far from the truth.

"Jim?" prompts his mother.

He looks at her. "Is Bob up to rebuilding?" They both know that the question is legitimate. Wesley is on the slow track to recovery. The town council has offered to shoulder a majority of the politics until the mayor is ready to return to office; they don't have much choice, actually, because Trelane has mysteriously dropped out of the race and disappeared off everyone's radar—even the press (much to their chagrin). And the people of Riverside want Robert Wesley back, if the city-wide petition to hold his office is any indication of their feelings.

But Bob having the energy to handle everything that he used to is not likely. Jim finally had a chance to take a good look at the man after the end of the Trelane crisis, and he was shocked at what he saw. Wesley looked old.

The expression on Winona's face indicates that she has something to say but is not certain if she should. Jim gives her a silent nudge.

"I talked to Bob," she begins, and Jim is intrigued by the nervousness in her voice. "I've been saving money, Jim, since the mortgage was paid off... Bob says he can help me out, loan out some of the insurance money—if we want to rebuild."

Jim's heart picks up speed.

“The construction would take time,” Winona says. Beneath her hushed voice, Jim hears a thrum of excitement and _want_. "It wouldn't be the same, but it'd be _mine_."

No decision to make. He turns her to face him and says fiercely, “You have to do it, Mom.”

Winona smiles. “You think so, Jimmy?”

“Yes,” he insists. His eyes skip past hers, to Bones’ then Spock’s. “What’s the point in dreaming if you aren’t going to fight to make the dream real when you have the chance?”

His mother’s laugh of delight and pride brings his attention back to her. “You have your father’s stubborn streak but you obviously inherited my brains,” she says with a hint of teasing. Winona’s eyes continue to twinkle as she tells her son, “You’re the hero among us, Jim. You should pick the name.”

Jim grins a little. “Naw, I have a superhero gang,” he corrects, thinking of all his family and friends. Impishly, "Though you might consider me the _lead_ hero."

It's probably Uhura who tosses gravel at the back of his head. When his mother pokes him in the side to demand the name of her new diner, Jim cannot help but grin broadly. “The Enterprise,” he announces.

“You remembered.” Eyes warm, Winona Kirk brushes a wayward lock of hair from his forehead with affection. “The Enterprise it is, then,” she confirms.

Mother and son hug, Jim’s heart feeling lighter than it has in days. Then Winona steps back, winks, and turns away to accept congratulations from Sulu and Pavel and share excited planning chatter with Uhura. Jim, knowing his mother won’t allow him this moment of pretend-privacy for long, he strides over to Bones and Spock.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need or want to. He lets his embrace of Bones and subsequent dizzying kiss say everything. Then—because in for a penny, in for a pound; because Jim is growing fond of Bones’ rule for equal affection between the three of the men; and mostly because every part of Jim is urging him take hold of Spock, too—he reels Spock in and gives him the same treatment. Beside them, Leonard groans in a timber deeper than his natural voice.

Jim pulls away, leaving his hands on Spock’s upper arms, and turns to McCoy to watch the man’s eyes darken from green to brown. “Hot enough for you, Bones?” he asks slyly.

“Do it again ‘n I’ll letcha know,” Leonard says in a lowered, slightly ragged voice.

Jim slides his hands across the breadth of Spock’s shoulders, feeling Spock respond by placing arms around Jim’s waist, and Kirk thinks that suggestion is a wonderful idea. After all, while he may be a content mechanic, a generally charitable and good-natured man, and a retired bad boy, Jim has never, _ever_ been the kind of person to turn down a challenge.

Behind the three men, someone lets out a wolf whistle. Jim’s mother quips loudly, “At least this time he brought them home to meet his mother.” She adds smugly, “Oh yes, he’s definitely my boy.”

Bones laughs, Jim hides his blushing face in Spock’s neck, and Spock remarks in a somewhat choked voice, “Might I suggest we desist in this... activity while in view of your mother?”

Jim couldn’t agree more.

After they decide on a place for dinner and everyone is walking back to their respective vehicles, Gaila skips up to Leonard's side and slips her arm through his arm. Bones does not protest, simply looks at her curiously.

Jim sees the familiar wicked curve of her mouth and groans out loud. "Gaila, what did you do?"

The redhead pats her curly hair. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Jim closes his eyes.

Gaila takes that as a _yes_ to continue. "I was in an terrible mood because Jim," she tells Leonard intently—and now Spock, who has stopped to listen, "didn't think to include me in your little adventure."

"Gaila, that was the Q—"

She ignores him. "Well, I was upset and thinking of ways to make it past security at the hospital—I can be very persuasive, you know—"

"Seductive," Jim corrects.

"— _so I could whap Jim on his egotistical head with his bed pan_ ," she adds with an annoyed look, "when this grade A _bitch_ starts throwing a tantrum in my store. You know her, Jim," Gaila says too sweetly. "Marlena."

Leonard sucks in a breath. Jim is on the verge of telling Gaila to shut up (she can't know of Marlena's threats) when he spies the flash of sympathy in her eyes as she catches Bones' expression. He decides to hold his tongue.

Gaila modulates her story-telling candor to a more serious tone. "Marlena goes on about how some rich boyfriend dumped her and left town and she can't believe she ever slept with him. Same old story I hear a lot, mostly, except when she mentioned Jim's name. I believe her exact words were 'It's all that asshole Kirk's fault.'"

Jim grimaces.

Gaila's sharp eyes miss nothing. "So I closed up shop, got her drunk at a local bar, and coaxed out the whole sordid story. You have a daughter, Dr. McCoy," she says. The redhead smiles once, disarmingly, before pushing into McCoy's personal space. "I think that's great, but if you ever, _ever_ give some lowlife bitch like Marlena an opportunity to fuck you over again, I will gut you myself."

Leonard is doing a good impression of a shore-stranded fish. Jim eases the fiery woman back so the man can breathe. "Okay, Gaila, I think Bones has learned his lesson."

She flips a curl over her shoulder. "I hope so." Her eyes cut from Jim to Spock to Leonard. "By the way, Marlena Moreau won't bother you again."

Spock asks curiously, "How did you accomplish that, Miss—Gaila?"

Gaila's wicked smile blooms. "Why, with the direct approach, Mr. Spock. I slugged her."

The tickle in Jim's throat might be hysterical laughter. He swallows it down and firmly orders it to stay put.

Gaila kisses Leonard's cheek, then Jim's. "I like them," she whispers in Jim's ear. "You'll let me know if I can help, right?"

Jim hugs her hard. "Yes," he promises. "I will."

Gaila waggles her fingers at the men in goodbye and hurries over to Sulu's car. Jim doesn't mind it when Bones pulls Jim back against his chest. Leonard wants to know, "Where the hell do you find these people, kid?"

"No idea," he confesses. "Where did I find you and Spock?"

Bones drops a kiss on the outer shell of his ear. "Right here, Jim," Leonard McCoy answers. "Right here."

All the more reason to bring the diner—the _Enterprise_ —back.

~~~

_Some months later..._

 

 

Jim is digging for his house keys in his duffel bag when a familiar, high-pitched _meow!_ gives him pause on the sidewalk outside his apartment building. He grins as he looks up and calls, “Bo Peep! Go get Bones to unlock the door!”

The furry face of the cat on the window sill stares down at him with slit eyes and makes an indignant _meow meow_ and a tail-swish of irritation, as if Jim daring to request that she leave her perch is quite uncalled-for. As much as Bo Peep adores Spock, Jim is certain that cat has developed Bones’ mood swings. Unless Kirk is doing something which pleases Bo Peep, like scratching her under her pointy chin, he gets swatted at for being an annoyance.

How unfair.

Bo Peep in residence means that Spock is in residence also. Of course, Jim had already known that, as he had left his Harley next to Spock’s restored Corvette in the parking lot. Every time Jim looks at the Corvette he thinks of Sarek, who had casually mentioned during the last dinner before Spock's parents flew back to Europe that the Corvette in Jose's garage looked similar to a Sting Ray he owned the summer Spock was ten. (Amanda inserted, "Spock loved that car. He scratched his name under one of the seats. Oh, Sarek love, that was a wonderful summer.") The following day Jose looked in askance at Jim as Jim contorted into an upside-down position on the floorboard of the car and kind of freaked out when he found faint marks that could easily spell _SPOCK_ on the underside of the passenger seat.

By the time Jim swaggers up to the front door of his apartment, the door is wide open and Spock is waiting to greet him. Jim tosses his work bag to the side of the door and says, “Hey, Spock.”

“Jim,” returns the tall, dark-haired man. “Leonard will be with us momentarily. He is changing into more comfortable attire.”

Jim makes a distracted noise, already following his nose into the kitchen. “It’s your night to cook?”

Spock inclines his head.

Thank God. Bones gets a night to cook, Spock gets a night to cook, but Jim—well, Jim gets a night to pay for take-out or their meal at a restaurant (he’ll be happy when The Enterprise Diner’s construction is officially completed in another two weeks; he hears his mother is still trying to talk Sulu into leaving meatloaf off the menu, which is a clash of titans Jim does not want to get involved in). Kirk is barred from the kitchen, an entirely unjust declaration as it was not his intention to start a grease fire last time. He had been trying to make pancakes as a sweet early morning surprise for his special someones… and almost taken out half of Spock’s kitchen.

Whoops. Perhaps it is a good thing the owners have agreed to sell the enormous house to Spock after all.

Spock catches Jim’s finger before he can dip it into a delicious-looking sauce. Jim whines that he is hungry. Spock kisses the tip of his finger and then steers Jim by the shoulders out of the kitchen with the promise of a quick snack.

Having succeeded in his ingenious plan to wheedle a plate of food out of Spock, Jim settles on the couch and turns on the television. Bo Peep leaps over the armrest and walks the length of the couch—in particular, over Jim with dainty, insulting steps—and then over the other armrest and to the floor, whereupon she seeks out her favorite person (Spock) and twines about his legs, purring. Jim pretends to be insulted because that satisfies Bo Peep immensely. The volume of her purring increases.

Spock joins him on the couch after setting a plate of sliced French bread and a small fondue pot of cheese on the coffee table. Jim spears one of the pieces of bread, dips it in the melted cheese, and groans in satisfaction. He knows he has approximately two minutes to eat his share before Bo Peep jumps onto the table to investigate why the humans are eating and she is not.

After flipping channels while pressed up against Spock’s side and resolutely licking his fingers clean (and ignoring the proffered napkin by his companion), Jim remarks, “Didn’t you say Bones was in his room?”

Spock leans over and removes the piece of bread from the table that Bo Peep is pawing at with an inquisitive gesture of _what is this substance?_ “Leonard did say he would join us, though he seemed tired upon returning from his trip to Derby.”

“Mm,” mumbles Kirk, standing up and stretching. “I could use a nap, too.” He has an unhealthy habit (Bones says) of climbing into bed with the nearest napping person. That, Jim decides, would rouse Bones, if they all puppy-piled into his bed. A sleepy, grumpy Bones is more adorable than an awake, grumpy Bones.

Jim gives the cracked door of Bones’ room a token tap before entering. To his surprise, Leonard is not asleep, nor out of his scrubs from his once-weekly trip to the hospital in Derby. McCoy sits sagging at the foot of the bed. Jim notices that he is turning a letter over in his hands, and Jim immediately swallows down apprehension.

He calls softly, “Bones?”

Leonard lifts his head, looking first at Jim then at Spock, who is undoubtedly at Jim’s back. The expression on his face does not exactly qualify as upset—more like shocked.

Jim kneels at Leonard’s feet and puts a hand on his thigh. “Bad news?” he asks tentatively.

Leonard straightens, seeming to come back to himself now that Jim is touching him and Spock has reached over to take the letter from Bones’ hands. “Jim,” begins McCoy, then changes his mind. He shakes his head. “It’s not bad news.” He ends the sentence with a shaky sigh that has Jim sliding his hands up to Leonard’s shoulders.

“Indeed it is not,” says Spock as he looks up from the letter.

Jim glances between the two men. “You can tell me?”

McCoy gives him an odd look. “It’s from my mother,” he explains. “She says—oh _Jesus_ —" Leonard tries to lean back but Jim tightens his grip on the man’s shoulders. “Jim,” Bones says somewhat thickly, “Joanna—she’s bringing Joanna to visit.” The last bit comes out in a rush.

Jim’s brain needs a second to process that. The shell-shock on Leonard’s face, after giving voice to the news, transforms into a raw edge of happiness. Bones looks younger in that moment, the seemingly permanent shadows at the corners of his eyes flying away. Kirk swallows hard at the sight and tugs Leonard into a hug, both wanting to preserve the glow in his lover’s face and fearing how vulnerable Bones’ heart is (Jim knows Bones desperately wants to see his daughter) and needing to protect it.

He pulls away at last, kisses the side of Leonard’s mouth, and exclaims, “This is great, Bones!”

McCoy laughs. “I don’t know—I have _no_ idea how she talked Jocelyn into it and I don’t damned care, Jim. _I can’t care_. It’s been so long...” Leonard switches from happy to mildly alarmed. “Oh shit, where are we going to put them?” McCoy half-rises and looks around at his room.

Jim stretches his back as he climbs to his feet. “We’ve got plenty of places,” he teases, amused. “The couch, the bathtub, and, oh, the kitchen cabinet!”

McCoy rounds on him and rolls his eyes, mouth twitching with humor. “Jim—shut up.”

Kirk beams and rocks back on his heels.

Leonard says thoughtfully, “I guess we can put ‘em up at Spock’s or the farm.”

“Absolutely!”

Spock nods in agreement. “I imagine that Eleanor will feel more comfortable at the Kirk farm. On the other hand, I have several rooms to accommodate both your mother and your daughter, as well as yourself, Leonard, should you wish to stay in the same residence as your family.”

Jim scratches his head. “Bones could just bunk with you, Spock.” He smirks. “I mean, it’s not like we stay in separate rooms every time we sleep over at your house.” He almost, _almost_ , makes a crack about the type of sleeping they do.

It isn’t until Leonard and Spock simply stare at him that Jim realizes he is missing a vital part of the big picture. “What?” he wants to know.

Spock clears his throat and says to Leonard, “He has not met your mother.”

Bones puts a hand over his eyes and says, “Jesus Almighty.”

Now Jim feels a prickling of alarm. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish. Finally thinking of something to do, Jim laughs a little (which comes out squeaky, not at all like he intended). “Hey, it’s just your mom, Bones. No big deal.”

McCoy looks at him pityingly. “You sad, pretty little boy,” drawls the Southerner. Then to Spock, “We’ll haveta use your house. She’ll want to be able to keep an eye on us at all times. Make sure there's no... messin' about.”

Spock nods in understanding. It is Jim who flounders. “Why?”

Leonard turns away, sniffing the air and deflecting the conversation with “Is dinner ready?”

Spock calmly follows Leonard into the living room, leaving Jim to trail behind them, bleating, “Guys? You’re freaking me out. C’mon—guys? How bad can Mrs. McCoy, erm, Eleanor be?”

Bones picks up the meowing Bo Peep and buries his face into her fur, his shoulders shaking with either laughter, tears, or both. Spock proceeds to lay out plates and silverware for the meal they are sharing. Jim stands in his own apartment like a fool, feeling sweat gather at the back of his neck.

Of course they are playing with him. Bones’ mother cannot be nearly as scary as Spock’s, and Jim—well, he mostly survived that (due to the fact that he was pitiful-looking after that escapade with Trelane and Amanda seemed to cut him some slack out of sympathy). Jim tucks his hands under his armpits and takes two deep breaths.

Nope. It’ll be okay. He’s James T. Kirk after all. He is a man of action, said-action decidedly being to woo Bones’ little girl and to hope the elder female McCoy follows.

Bones calls, “You want a beer?”

Jim sighs and lets his tension go. “Sure,” he calls back, plopping onto the couch. There will be time for freaking out later. Right now, he has two sexy boyfriends about to serve him dinner and how lucky does that make Jim?

Then Bones settles next to Jim on the couch, takes a swig of an opened beer, and digs a fork into a plate of food.

Jim frowns. “Where’s mine?”

“I’m a doctor, not a housekeeper. I put your beer by your empty plate. You’ve got two good legs. Make use of ‘em.”

Jim looks at Spock who is standing by the kitchen counter and feeding bits of chicken to Bo Peep. The man meets his stare, lifts his eyebrow in response to Jim’s pout, and continues to feed the purring cat.

Okay. Sexy boyfriends—check. Servants? Not so much.

Still, Jim is fully aware of what a lucky man he is.

 

 

_-Fini_


End file.
